[BL] Oops! I Seduced My Sister's Fiance (And Now I'm Pregnant)

*Bael’s POV*

Director Han’s fourth revision of the eastern division report arrives at nine twenty-three, thirty-seven minutes before the deadline.

Bael reads it the same way he read the first three — steadily, without expression, moving through each section at the pace the content deserves. The report is forty-three pages this time. Two more than the last version. Han has added detail where Bael marked deficiencies, expanded the projections, and reconciled the figures that couldn’t be reconciled in the third attempt.

It is better than the third version.

It is still not complete.

Bael sets it down.

He had expected this. Not because Han is careless, Han is many things but careless is not one of them, but because Han is still, on some level, testing the boundaries of what Bael will actually read. Each revision has been a calibration. How closely is he watching? How much can slip through in the footnotes? What constitutes adequate?

The answer, which Han has not yet fully internalized, is that adequate is whatever Bael decides it is.

He picks up his phone.

”Have Director Han come to my office at eleven.”

***

Han arrives at ten fifty-eight.

Dressed precisely. Expression composed. Posture carrying none of the rigidity it held the morning the board vote failed, he has recalibrated entirely since then, shed the performance of authority he no longer possesses and replaced it with something more sustainable. Careful and measured. A man who has looked at the board clearly and decided that careful is the only position left worth occupying.

He takes the chair across the desk without being invited.

Bael notes it. Says nothing.

”Section six,” Bael says. ”The supplier reconciliation.”

Han’s eyes don’t move from Bael’s face. ”I expanded it from the previous version.”

”You expanded it using the same source figures.” Bael turns the report and slides it across the desk, one finger resting on the relevant table. ”These three suppliers escalated payment disputes in April. None of that appears here.”

A pause. Brief and controlled.

”I’ll revise it.”

”You’ll revise section six, the headcount variance in section nine, and the capital allocation summary on page thirty-seven.” Bael pulls the report back. ”Friday.”

Han looks at him.

Not with anger, that version of Han died somewhere between the board vote and the first revision deadline. What looks back at Bael now is simply a man doing arithmetic. Calculating the distance between where he stands and where he thought he would be standing by now, and finding it larger than he had planned for.

”Friday,” Han says.

”That gives you three days.”

”Understood.”

He picks up his copy of the report from the edge of the desk — tabbed, as always, every relevant section marked precisely — and stands.

At the door he pauses.

Bael waits.

Han decides against whatever it was and leaves.

***

The office goes quiet.

Bael looks at the closed door for a moment, then at his desk.

The small frame sits where it has always sat, slightly to the right of his monitor. He had asked the photographer for this size specifically, small enough for a desk, not a wall. The photographer hadn’t asked why.

Runze is looking directly at the camera. Bael is looking at Runze.

He hadn’t noticed that until he saw the print.

He looks at it the way he sometimes does between works, in the small gaps the day creates. Not long. Just long enough.

Then: ”Shen Rui.”

A beat of silence from outside.

Then another beat.

Bael looks up from the photograph.

He stands, crosses the office, and opens the door.

Shen Rui is at his desk — which is where Shen Rui always is, positioned precisely outside Bael’s office with his monitor angled and his documents organized and his expression professionally composed. This is all entirely normal.

What is slightly less normal is Pei Xuan standing at the left side of Shen Rui’s chair, ostensibly reviewing something on Shen Rui’s monitor, his shoulder close enough to Shen Rui’s that the gap between them is not a professional gap. And Mu Huang standing at the right, a folder in his hand that he is very clearly not looking at, his attention fixed instead on the side of Shen Rui’s face with an expression that has nothing to do with the afternoon schedule.

Shen Rui himself has the look of a man who was very focused on his work a moment ago and is now very focused on not reacting to being caught at anything.

The three of them look at Bael.

Bael looks at the three of them.

Pei Xuan straightens. Mu Huang looks at his folder. Shen Rui’s expression returns to its default setting of complete professional neutrality with a speed that is almost impressive.

”Chairman,” Shen Rui says.

”Five minutes,” Bael says.

”Of course.”

Bael goes back into his office and closes the door.

He sits down. He picks up his pen. He looks at the document in front of him without reading it for approximately four seconds.

Then he sets the pen down and opens the file on his desk — the preliminary assessment his strategy team submitted last week, forty pages on the hospitality and cultural sector, acquisition targets ranked by viability, projected repositioning timelines, comparable brand transformations in analogous markets.

He has read it three times already.

He reads it again.

Wuchen Group has spent over thirty years being a company that builds things, infrastructure, logistics, manufacturing, financial holdings. Competent, profitable, and defensible. His family built something real and he has spent the last several years ensuring it survived long enough to be built further.

The hotels have always been there too, forty-three of them across eleven cities, mid to upper tier, profitable and entirely unremarkable. Assets that generate returns and do nothing else.

He wants to change that. Not by acquiring more of the same but by repositioning what already exists, higher tier properties, cultural programming, venues that attract a different kind of attention and a different kind of clientele. Better margins, stronger brand association. A division that actually earns its place in the portfolio.

It is, at its core, simply the next move.

Bael turns towards the door.

”Shen Rui.”

The door opens immediately. Shen Rui steps in, Pei Xuan and Mu Huang a precise step behind him, nothing about any of their bearing suggesting anything at all.

”The hospitality sector assessment — I want the strategy team Thursday morning. Full presentation, acquisition shortlist, I want viable targets identified and ranked by Thursday.”

”Yes sir,” Shen Rui confirms, already writing.

”The hospital division’s quarterly figures.”

”On your desk by four.”

”The Linhai infrastructure update.”

”Director Lin submitted it this morning. I’ll have it summarized and flagged for your review.”

”Don’t summarize it. Send the full report.”

”Yes, Chairman.”

Bael picks up his pen.

”That’s all.”

Shen Rui withdraws. The door closes. The office settles back into its working quiet, the low hum of the city outside, the soft sound of documents being moved at Shen Rui’s desk beyond the door.

Bael opens the Linhai report Shen Rui sends through a minute later and begins reading.

At some point, without deciding to, his eyes move briefly to the small frame at the corner of his desk.

Then back to the report.

There is a lot still to do today. There is always a lot still to do.

He turns the page.