The CEO's Secret Identity

Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office tower, casting mottled shadows upon the mahogany table in the conference room. The green ivy on the windowsill draped its vines low, the leaves still shimmering with dew from the night before. I tightened my fingers around the fountain pen, watching Leo Jones — Cindy Lincoln's newly appointed vice president — ascend the podium step by step. His leather shoes made scarcely a sound on the carpet, yet each step felt as though it pressed heavily upon my heart. The atmosphere of the morning meeting should have been busy, yet orderly. Ordinarily, at this hour, Cindy Lincoln would arrive five minutes early, handing a cup of hot coffee to each attendee. Today, however, she entered alongside Leo Jones, clutching no coffee cup—only a black folder. The deliberate sternness etched on Leo Jones's face stirred an inexplicable unease deep within me. "There is an important announcement today," Leo Jones's voice resounded through the microphone, permeating the entire conference room, the current humming with a faint static. His gaze, like a precise spotlight, fell unwaveringly upon me. "Due to repeated tardiness and early departures, contributing nothing to the company's development, the management has resolved to dismiss Harry Gabriel with immediate effect." With a deafening roar, my mind erupted like a burst of firecrackers. The fountain pen in my hand clattered onto the desk, its cap rolling to the edge before striking Cindy Lincoln's folder. I was on the verge of laughter, yet a bitter sting in my throat silenced me. Just last week, I drank until my stomach bled at the dinner table trying to secure the City West project. At that moment, Cindy Lincoln still held my hand and said, "Thank you for your hard work." I instinctively glanced at Cindy Lincoln seated beside Leo Jones. She is the founder of this company and the woman I have loved for three years. Today, she wore an off-white suit—a gift I gave her on her last birthday. Yet at this moment, her gaze slipped away from me like a hot coal, swiftly turning toward the window and settling on the traffic flowing below, as if something far more important than I awaited there. "Cindy," I tried to keep my voice steady, though my fingertips grew pale from the strain. "Is that what you mean as well?" The conference room was so silent one could hear every breath. In the back row, a newly arrived intern quietly took out a mobile phone, only to be shot a glare by a senior employee beside them and hastily put it away. All eyes were fixed on Cindy Lincoln. She remained silent for several seconds, clutching the tablecloth so tightly her knuckles turned blue. When she lifted her gaze, the tenderness that once filled her eyes was gone, replaced solely by icy detachment. "Harry, this is the company's collective decision. I... agree." A collective decision? I recall three years ago, she wept in our rented room, clutching her laptop; the keyboard was stained with instant noodle broth as she said the last client had abandoned us, and the company account held barely three thousand—barely enough to survive. It was I who secretly reached out to Mr. Clark, waiting for him three hours in the café and shielding him from three rounds of hard liquor before he consented to collaborate with Cindy Lincoln. I was also the one who anonymously transferred five hundred thousand into the company's account, marking it as an ‘Round A Investment.' At that moment, Cindy Lincoln excitedly embraced me, saying, "Someone believes in our capacity." I have never told her any of these things. I thought that as long as I stayed by her side and waited for her to stand firm, it wouldn't be too late to tell her that I am the heir to the Gabriel family. I even fantasized that on the day the company went public, I would kneel on one knee with a ring and say, "I will give you a better life." But now, it seems I was wrong from the very start. Leo Jones, as if my humiliation were not enough, added another sentence, his tone steeped in patronizing arrogance. "Furthermore, Harry Gabriel still holds 5% of the company's shares." "For the company's future development, I hope you will transfer them to me." "Of course, I will give you some compensation—one hundred thousand, enough for you to find a new job." I suddenly turned to look at Cindy Lincoln. That 5% equity was voluntarily given to me by her last year; she said, "This is what you deserve. Without you, the company would not be what it is today." But now she avoids my gaze, her hair falling to cover half her face, and speaks softly. "Harry, transferring the shares is good for the company, and it's good for you as well..." "Leo Jones can help the company connect with Dragon Group's resources; we will be better off in the future." I repeated the phrase, my heart gripped tightly by an invisible hand, aching so painfully that I could barely breathe. "Cindy Lincoln, tell me, what exactly did these three years of our relationship mean to you?" "Was I merely a stepping stone for your climb, or disposable rubbish once you used me?"