Her voice was quiet. "Lu Jianjun?"
He took a step closer—not enough to invade her space, but enough to make the air between them feel different again. Denser. Loaded.
"I know what you're thinking," he said.
She turned to face him fully now, jaw tight, eyebrows drawn together. She hate questioning him like this, but before she told everyone only he knew what happened. "Then maybe you can tell me why Yin Hao is suddenly under strict ICC investigation… for something that barely even qualifies as misconduct."
She wasn't wrong. The Internal Complaints Committee—ICC—wasn't some PR department gimmick. It was a mandated body, built to uphold due process, to protect confidentiality, to investigate serious allegations of harassment or workplace abuse. But this? This wasn't that. And they both knew it.
