Early the next morning, Hailey Tang was already up, dressed in a simple white hoodie and jeans. Her long hair was tied up in a high ponytail, no makeup, no heels—just a pair of clean sneakers and a determined face.
She didn't need to look glamorous today.
Today, she had a mission: to sneak into Ethan Yu's office and "borrow" his inspiration.
Breakfast was skipped. Coffee was grabbed. And before anyone could ask questions, she was out the door with a large thermos and two lunchboxes in hand.
Zhang Ma, ever dutiful, called after her, "You're delivering lunch this early?"
Hailey didn't stop walking. "It's strategic! I need to catch him before he gets too busy!"
Of course, that was only half true. The other half involved rifling through his design archive before he could lock it away.
Ethan Yu's private design studio was on the top floor of his company's HQ—an entire penthouse built like a sanctuary for creative minds. The security was strict, access even stricter.
But Hailey had a golden ticket—she was, at least on paper, Mrs. Yu.
The receptionist stared at her, wide-eyed. "Ma'am… you're here to deliver lunch?"
Hailey nodded, smiling sweetly. "And coffee. And love. Please let him know I'm here."
The poor girl almost tripped over herself trying to press the intercom. A few seconds later, the reply buzzed in: "Let her in."
The doors opened with a soft click, and Hailey strode in like she owned the place.
Ethan was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other. He looked up, expression unreadable.
"You're early," he said.
"You're welcome," she replied, placing the lunch and coffee neatly on his desk.
He glanced at the food, unimpressed. "You didn't make this."
Hailey's eyes widened. "So what? It's from the heart."
"No," he said flatly, "it's from the hotel catering department."
She rolled her eyes. "Do you want praise or food? Pick one."
Ethan set his tablet aside and leaned back in his chair. "So what are you really doing here, Hailey?"
Hailey smiled, settling into the chair across from him as if she had all day. "Can't a wife visit her husband at work?"
"You've never done it before."
"Well," she said, lifting her chin, "maybe I'm trying to change."
Ethan's brow arched. "Or maybe you're scheming."
"Why so suspicious?" she asked, clearly offended. "I just came to see my handsome, talented husband."
He narrowed his eyes. "And steal my lunch?"
"No, steal your heart."
He stared.
She stared back.
Then she burst into laughter. "Okay, fine. I came early because I wanted to take a look around. You know, get inspired for my big design."
Ethan gave a dry laugh. "And you thought I'd just let you snoop through my office?"
She placed a hand dramatically over her chest. "You wound me. I only wanted to browse your bookshelf."
"You mean my design journals."
"They're on the bookshelf, aren't they?"
Ethan didn't respond immediately. He just looked at her, his gaze cool and assessing.
Then, to her surprise, he stood and walked to the side wall. A smooth motion later, a hidden cabinet slid open, revealing a series of leather-bound sketchbooks arranged like sacred texts.
Hailey blinked.
He waved a hand toward them. "Take a look. I'm curious what you'll understand from them."
Hailey hesitated. This was too easy.
"Why are you being so cooperative?" she asked suspiciously.
"Because I know you can't copy genius," he replied with a faint smirk. "You can try. But your design will expose you the moment you submit it."
"Oof, harsh," she muttered, standing and heading to the shelf anyway.
She picked out a few volumes and flipped through them, her eyes scanning rapidly.
The sketches were incredible. Precise yet expressive, bold but balanced. Ethan's style had always been architectural poetry.
And some of these designs… weren't these from buildings that hadn't even broken ground yet?
Her heart skipped. She might've hit the jackpot.
Ethan watched her quietly, noting the way her expression changed—first curiosity, then awe, then something sharper.
Determination.
"You don't remember my designs well enough to recreate them," he said, almost to himself. "So now you're trying to reverse-engineer them."
"I call it 'inspired tribute,'" she replied without looking up.
He folded his arms. "That's called plagiarism in the real world."
"Not if I change the structure."
"Still plagiarism."
"Fine, then I'll just 'study the masters' like every good designer does."
He let out a short laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you."
She tucked a notebook under her arm and turned toward the door.
"Where do you think you're going with that?" Ethan called after her.
"I'm borrowing it. I'll return it later. Probably."
"You're not authorized to remove any materials from this office."
"I'm your wife," she said cheerfully. "Everything you own is half mine."
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "That's not how this works."
"It is until the divorce papers are signed."
She blew him a kiss and exited the office without another word.
Ethan stared after her, unsure whether to be impressed or deeply annoyed.
Probably both.
Back at home, Hailey set the borrowed journal on her desk like it was a stolen treasure.
Her fingers danced over the pages, absorbing every line, every brushstroke. She didn't copy anything directly—she wasn't that foolish.
But she began to understand his logic: how he blended cultural symbolism with clean geometry, how he used light and shadow like a painter.
He really was a genius.
And she was going to beat him with his own brilliance.
As the sun began to set, she pulled out a fresh sheet and began sketching. This time, it wasn't just a copy—it was her own design, infused with her unique flair and Ethan's refined discipline.
A fusion of rebellion and reason.
She didn't know if she'd win. But for the first time in years, she felt something powerful stirring inside her.
Pride. Purpose.
And maybe… a bit of love for the art itself.