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*EIGHT WEEKS LATER*

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*EIGHT WEEKS LATER*

Mr. Tang cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner as he proceeded with the meeting. "Zinzi, I must say that I am very impressed with your work. Since you've joined us, our company's growth has increased by seven percent," he declared, his tone filled with genuine admiration. I felt a warm surge of pride and allowed myself a small, satisfied smile, knowing my efforts were truly making a difference.

Mr. Tang's expression shifted as he turned his attention to his son, Itirit. "Son, even though you are my heir and will one day inherit this company, your contributions have only resulted in a two percent increase in growth. Frankly, I expected more from you," He said, a hint of disappointment coloring his words. Itirit's face contorted into a scowl, and he shot me a look filled with venom. Unfazed, I rolled my eyes and directed my focus back to Mr. Tang, determined to remain professional.

"Dad, why are the three of us the only ones here? And what is this meeting about?" Itirit asked, his restlessness evident as he shifted from side to side in his chair.

Mr. Tang clasped his hands together, leaning forward slightly. "That's a good question, son. I've called this meeting because I want you and Ms. Oscar to embark on a business venture together. I believe that combining your strengths will be beneficial and could significantly boost our company's revenue," He explained, his eyes scanning through the documents laid out in front of him.

"Sir, with all due respect, why did you choose Itirit and me to work together? Surely, there are other suitable candidates within the company," I asked, my curiosity piqued as I nervously fiddled with my bracelet beneath the table.

Mr. Tang looked up, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "Zinzi, your performance has been exemplary, and Itirit, despite his shortcomings, has great potential. I believe that by working together, you can learn from each other and achieve remarkable results. This partnership is not just about the numbers; it's about fostering growth, both personally and professionally," He stated, his voice carrying a tone of finality.

"Well, I don't want to work with her," Itirit said dryly, pushing back his chair as he began to stand up.

"Sit. Down," Mr. Tang commanded, his voice a steely edge. "Or I can always hand over the company to Stacy."

Itirit's face turned red with anger, but he sank back into his seat, glaring daggers at me. I met his gaze briefly before turning my attention back to Mr. Tang, who was now addressing me.

"Zinzi, do you feel the same way as my son?" Mr. Tang asked, one eyebrow arched in a challenge. The implication was clear: refusing this opportunity could have serious consequences.

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