Against the Algorithm

Chapter 22: How It Begins

"You're an ass."

It was quiet.

Barely audible.

But he heard it.

Oh, he definitely heard it.

Because the moment the words left her mouth, she felt it—that sudden shift in the air, that slow, creeping pull of attention locking onto her with full force, like the atmosphere itself had frozen in place to acknowledge the moment.

And then—

She heard it.

That low, smooth, amused chuckle that always spelled disaster. The one that crawled down her spine like electricity and made her want to disappear. "What was that?"

His voice was lazy.

Teasing.

But beneath it was that dangerous edge—that quiet, confident dominance that said he wasn't going to let it go.

Yao refused to move. Refused to look up. Refused to acknowledge any part of what she had just done. Because if she did—if she dared to meet his eyes now—she knew she would never recover.

But Sicheng?

Sicheng was thriving. He had no intention of letting this slide. Not when she had whispered it like she thought he wouldn't hear. Not when she was hiding from him like he couldn't already see every inch of her flustered regret. So, with unbearable patience, with the kind of slow, playful cruelty that came naturally to someone who had already won, he leaned forward just slightly, propped his chin against his palm, and let his voice drop into something deeper.

"Did you just call me an ass, Xiǎo Tùzǐ?"

Yao stiffened.

Immediately.

Utterly.

And Sicheng smirked. Because she wasn't denying it. Wasn't protesting. Wasn't even breathing right. She was just sitting there, hidden behind his carefully selected investment portfolio like it could save her from the consequences of her own mouth. But it couldn't. He wouldn't let it. Tilting his head, his voice dipped further, smoother now, a touch darker, velvet-wrapped danger.

"Say it again."

And Yao—completely defeated, completely overwhelmed, completely done—let out a tiny, breathless whisper, her voice so soft it could barely be heard. "...I take it back."

Sicheng laughed.

Low.

Dark.

Smug as hell.

And Yao, still hiding, still burning, still absolutely buried in her own embarrassment, knew—without even lifting her head—that she had just lost. Completely. Irrevocably. And he wasn't going to let her forget it.

A sharp, deliberate knock against the office door shattered the moment like a stone hurled through glass, cutting clean through the lingering tension and breaking the fragile silence that had wrapped itself around them in the aftermath of her mortified surrender, forcing Yao's already scrambled, thoroughly flustered mind to register the undeniable presence of someone standing on the other side. And before she could even react, before her body had the chance to twitch or rise or breathe, before she could savor the temporary illusion of safety that came from burying her face in the portfolio she had weaponized as a shield, a voice rang out—clear, firm, smooth as polished stone but edged with unmistakable, indisputable authority.