In the grand conference room of Dongfang Group, the atmosphere was electric with tension and hope. The company's annual design competition had officially begun, and for once, every designer—from the rookies to the veterans—was gathered in one place, all eyes fixed on a single figure.
Ethan Yu.
The CEO himself had decided to oversee the competition, a rare and significant gesture. Normally, such evaluations were handled by senior directors or department heads, but Ethan believed in leading from the front. His presence today wasn't just about control—it was about recognition, inspiration, and accountability. When the most powerful man in the company took the time to personally review over a hundred design submissions, it sent a clear message: every one of them mattered.
And more importantly, he was watching.
No one objected to him being the sole judge. In fact, most were eager. Getting noticed by Ethan Yu was as good as being handed a ticket to the top. He wasn't just the CEO; he was a legendary designer in his own right, with accolades and awards that filled half a wall in the design department's trophy room.
The rules were simple: each submission would be displayed one by one on the projector. If Ethan saw potential, he'd call on the designer to explain their concept. If not—well, the design was silently passed over. Brutal, but efficient.
Sitting at the head of the table, Ethan rolled up his sleeves and leaned toward the laptop. His face was calm, unreadable. He began scrolling through the first design.
Click.
The room was so quiet, you could hear the faint hum of the projector. The first few submissions didn't make the cut. Designers tried to keep their disappointment hidden, but the subtle slumps in posture, the darting glances—they said everything.
No one left the room, though. Even those eliminated early knew this was a rare opportunity to observe, to learn, to understand what Ethan Yu valued. In a world as competitive as theirs, even rejection held lessons.
Click.
More designs appeared. Still, Ethan remained impassive—until one caught his eye.
He turned slightly toward Ji Chuan, his assistant. "This one," he said.
Ji Chuan nodded immediately. "Zhao Gang, please step forward and present your design concept."
The designer in question shot to his feet, eyes wide with excitement. His voice trembled at first but steadied as he explained the story and technique behind his work. It was a solid piece—thoughtful, well-executed, if not particularly groundbreaking. Still, it had earned Ethan's approval, which meant it was good.
Down in the crowd, Lin Xin'er watched quietly, arms folded across her chest. She listened to Zhao Gang's explanation with polite attention, but inside, she was unimpressed.
"He's okay," she thought to herself. "But still far from my level."
With each new design that got Ethan's nod, she felt her confidence grow. None of the presentations so far could hold a candle to hers. She knew she'd poured her soul into her submission, refining every line, balancing innovation with sophistication. If anyone was going to take home the grand prize today, it would be her.
She even started imagining the moment: Ethan calling her name, her standing tall at the front, his eyes filled with admiration, maybe even something more.
Because lately, she'd begun to believe there was something between them—something more than just admiration for her work. She saw the way his gaze occasionally lingered, the way he treated her with subtle, rare softness. It made her heart race.
More designs rolled past. A few were clever. Some were bold. Others were surprisingly emotional. Ethan showed appreciation where it was due, but he never stayed on one design too long.
And then—her moment arrived.
Lin Xin'er's submission appeared on screen.
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Even Ethan's expression shifted. His brows lifted slightly, his eyes narrowing with focus. He leaned in. There was no doubt—her work had caught his attention.
It was a beautiful piece: elegant curves, daring asymmetry, unexpected color pairings that somehow worked flawlessly together. It wasn't just a design—it was a statement. A challenge to tradition. A reflection of someone who understood not just the rules, but when to break them.
Ethan stared at it longer than the others. Lin Xin'er sat straighter, her hands clenched in her lap to keep them from trembling. She was ready. Ready to be called up. Ready to shine.
But the call didn't come.
Ethan gave a soft "Hmm," barely audible, then clicked to the next design.
Just like that.
He didn't even look her way.
Lin Xin'er froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she thought—no, assumed—it was a mistake. Maybe he'd come back to it. Maybe he'd say something.
But he didn't.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She turned her head slightly, studying Ethan's face, looking for a sign of hesitation or second thought.
But there was none.
Ethan's thoughts were elsewhere—on another designer, another design. One that had changed everything for him.
Hailey Tang.
He hadn't realized how much her work had influenced him until now. But after seeing her pieces, going back to anything else felt…less. Less fresh. Less honest.
Hailey's design had been raw, whimsical, almost childlike in its creativity. It hadn't been flawless, but it had been fearless. It had stirred something in him that had been buried under years of commercial polish and executive restraint.
In contrast, Lin Xin'er's work—though exceptional on the surface—felt calculated. As if she was trying too hard to be innovative. The boldness was there, yes, but it lacked purity. It felt rehearsed. Intentional in a way that stripped it of authenticity.
It was a strange thing, really. If he hadn't seen Hailey's work first, he might have found Lin Xin'er's submission brilliant. He might have praised it openly. But now, with that benchmark in mind, everything else seemed a little too polished. A little too safe.
Even the veterans—those old-school designers known for playing it safe—suddenly seemed more appealing in comparison. At least their work had conviction. Lin Xin'er's, despite its brilliance, lacked that soul.
"Is this what creativity has come to?" Ethan thought. "Just a competition of who can package rebellion the best?"
He sighed, almost imperceptibly. The burden of expectation, the weight of leadership—it all came crashing in. Yet amidst it, Hailey's designs still danced in his memory. Wild. Pure. Free.
Lin Xin'er sat in stunned silence.
For the first time in a long while, doubt crept in.
She had worked so hard. She had studied every trend, analyzed every color palette, agonized over proportions and spacing. She had stayed up nights perfecting every last detail. And now?
It wasn't enough.
No—it was too much. Too precise. Too controlled.
And the worst part? She knew why.
Because there was someone else.
Someone whose designs had gotten under Ethan Yu's skin, rewired the way he saw beauty, and set a new standard without even trying.
Hailey Tang.
She clenched her jaw, nails digging into her palms.
This wasn't over.
She wouldn't let it be.