Was it He Qiuyang?
Ye Yanxi stared at He Qiuyang for a few seconds, surprised, then calmly looked away. She set the stack of files on the desk and carried the translated documents she’d finished earlier over to Ms. Yang.
At lunch, everyone else drifted off to the canteen. Ye Yanxi didn’t move. He Qiuyang stayed at her desk, shoulders stiff, as if she had no intention of leaving either.
When the office had emptied and it was just the two of them, Ye Yanxi stood and slammed the problematic folder down on He Qiuyang’s desk.
The folder hit the wood with a crisp crack. He Qiuyang flinched, her body jittering for a heartbeat, but she kept her face hard and said nothing.
Ye Yanxi had seen something off about He Qiuyang ever since she’d come out of the director’s office that morning—an unmistakable hostility directed at her. Now the warmth she usually kept in check had vanished. She leaned over, looking down on He Qiuyang not with a question but a statement, voice cool and controlled.
“You did this.”
He Qiuyang widened her eyes and tried for an injured, innocent look. Her fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles whitening. “I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, voice paper-thin.
“Don’t know?” Ye Yanxi’s temper flared. She went for the tote at He Qiuyang’s side, ripped it open, and flung a stack of photos onto the desk.
They were the same pictures that had been circulating in the group chat—dozens of images of Xiao Yu, including the swimsuit shot. They matched the photos that had been tucked into the problematic file exactly.
Caught red-handed, He Qiuyang bit her lip hard and said nothing.
“These are your work,” Ye Yanxi said. “Why would you do this?”
He Qiuyang’s face drained of color; the pressure in her hands made the veins stand out. The air between them felt sharp, like a blade.
If Ye Yanxi expected silence, she was wrong. He Qiuyang snapped.
“It’s you. If it weren’t for you, everything would be mine. You took everything from me.” Her voice trembled with fury.
Ye Yanxi paused, incredulous. “What…what did I take from you?”
He Qiuyang’s features twisted. She spoke slowly, as if savoring each accusation. “You were a new hire. Ever since you arrived, everything changed. I was the best Italian translator in the office, and then the supervisor started looking at me differently. The rest of the team started siding with you. Even the CEO—he’s been favoring you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. She swallowed, voice breaking. “You even looked at his photo in public and spilled tea on him, and he didn’t fire you.”
Ye Yanxi let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Those photos of the CEO—you took them, didn’t you?”
He Qiuyang’s expression went raw; she threw off any pretence of restraint. “Yes!” she shouted. “So what? I’ve liked him since the moment I first saw him. I worked so hard to learn Italian because of him. He praised me before, and Ms. Yang was pleased with my work. He went to Italy for three years and only just came back. You came along and stole everything I was supposed to get!”
Ye Yanxi felt suddenly ridiculous. Of course—He Qiuyang had mistaken her for a romantic rival and had set her up because of it. And yet the blame sheaped on Ye Yanxi felt absurd.
“You keep saying I stole your position,” Ye Yanxi said, voice flat. “Why don’t you look at yourself? If you were better, what’s yours would’ve stayed yours. No one can take that away.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully. “If you think I stole his attention, then take it back properly—fight for it. But why resort to petty, underhanded tricks like this?”
As the last word left her, a prickling at the back of her neck made her turn. At the doorway, a few colleagues had returned from lunch. They stood watching, expressions ranging from stunned to amused. And front and center among them stood Xiao Yu.
The room went quiet.