The Whole Company Thinks I'm the Boss's Mistress, But Only the Boss's Wife Pays Me - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I didn’t take the access card at the time.

Instead, I asked her, “Where is the danger coming from?”

Song Wantang looked at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.

Her smile didn’t make her seem approachable. If anything, it made the tension crawl tighter up my spine.

“You’re smarter than your resume suggests.”

I said nothing.

My resume was spotless.

An ordinary first-tier university. An ordinary major. My last job had been as an admin at a small company, and I’d only left because the company went under.

But I knew Song Wantang couldn’t possibly have looked only at my resume.

She turned her computer screen toward me.

On the screen was an anonymous email.

The subject line was brief.

“Xinglan Media suspected of issuing false invoices, involving supplier Baiqiao Culture.”

The sender was a temporary email address.

There were three screenshots in the body.

One was a service-fee invoice Baiqiao Culture had issued to Xinglan.

One was a Xinglan project quotation sheet.

And the last was a chat record from my former company’s finance group.

I was the one who had sent the email.

Three months ago, I was still working at a small company called Qinghe Creative.

Qinghe had taken on an outsourced project from Xinglan. The quote was 270,000.

But later, while sorting through old documents, I discovered that the amount Xinglan had processed internally was 1.1 million.

The extra 830,000 in the middle had taken a detour before landing in Baiqiao Culture’s account.

The legal representative of Baiqiao Culture was named Chen Lu.

Xinglan’s financial director was also named Chen Lu.

It wasn’t ironclad proof.

But it was disgusting enough.

When I sent that email to Song Wantang, I never thought she would reply.

Because Qinghe had just gone bankrupt then. The boss had run off, owing us three months of wages.

Then my mother was diagnosed with kidney disease and had to undergo dialysis twice a week.

I didn’t have the energy to seek justice on anyone’s behalf.

I was just angry.

Angry that I had to save a dozen yuan a day on bus fare. Angry that my mother, lying in the hospital, was still asking me whether my company would be paying year-end bonuses soon.

Angry that some people could spend more on alcohol at a single dinner than our whole team earned staying up all night to put together a proposal.

Song Wantang said, “After this email, I had someone look into you.”

My fingertips curled slightly.

She didn’t avoid the subject.

“You need money. You need a stable job. And you need a place that won’t fire you on a whim.”

It wasn’t pleasant to hear.

But it was true.

I asked, “So that’s why you hired me?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

“I was also the one who told admin to arrange your workstation next to the executive office.”

A slow layer of cold sweat broke out across my back.

That photo had been taken far too conveniently. It hadn’t been a coincidence at all.

Someone had been watching me all along.

Song Wantang said, “That photo today was aimed at me.”

I frowned.

“They wanted you to think there was something going on between Lu Chengzhou and me?”

“More than that.”

She picked up the fountain pen on her desk and lightly tapped it against the documents.

“They wanted me to drive you away with my own hands.”

She said it very calmly.

As if this kind of thing had happened more than once.

I suddenly remembered something HR had mentioned during onboarding.

The executive office had gone through three assistants last year.

One said there was a family emergency. One said they were in poor health. And the last one hadn’t even completed a handover before leaving.

I hadn’t taken it to heart at the time.

Thinking about it now, a position that close was exactly where you were most likely to see things you weren’t supposed to.

I asked, “Who are they?”

Song Wantang pushed a printed organizational chart toward me.

She had circled three people in red pen.

Financial Director Chen Lu.

Marketing Director Zhao Mingyuan.

And Lu Chengzhou.

I stared at the last name.

“You suspect your husband?”

Song Wantang lowered her eyes and capped the fountain pen.

“It’s not suspicion.”

“It’s that I need evidence.”