Puppet Master: Chapter 2

Glass Cracks

[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised]

The soft glow from the desk lamp bathed the room in a warm yellow light.

Machines blinked quietly.

Wires ran neatly along the wall, connecting screens, hard drives, a silent printer.

In the middle of it all, Zhan stood before the corkboard covered in Yibo’s life—a life he’d watched, studied, and recorded with mechanical precision.

Zhan slid off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose before slowly putting them back on.

His eyes lingered on the photo at the center—Yibo, calm and unreadable, staring directly at the camera.

He walked over to the small desk in the corner, opened his laptop, and began typing.

Notes, updates, pattern predictions.

Below it all, one new entry:

PHASE ONE: GAIN COMPLETE TRUST.

Zhan leaned back and exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Once he trusts me blindly, I can tear it all down.”

“Piece by piece. Including him.”

His expression darkened.

“He doesn’t know me. Not really. But he will.”

“And by the time he does, it’ll be too late!”

___________________________________________

The Wang Estate was quiet that evening.

The city lights outside muted by the thick glass windows.

Inside the private bar, a quiet hum of jazz played in the background.

Warm-toned shelves lined with aged whiskey, scotch, and foreign liquors glowed softly under the lighting.

Wang Zheng poured himself a drink and gestured for his son to sit.

Yibo, dressed down in a simple grey shirt and black trousers, sat with his usual calm.

Always composed.

Always controlled.

Mr. Qiao was already there, seated in the far corner, sipping tea instead of liquor.

The man had long given up trying to get Yibo to loosen up.

He just stayed present—a quiet constant.

“Your performance in the quarterly meeting was satisfactory,” Wang Zheng said.

Yibo gave a small nod. “Thank you, Dad.”

“But your response to the merger proposal was delayed,” his father continued, tone flat.

“Decisiveness is critical.”

“I was reviewing the terms in full. I didn’t want to approve something I hadn’t vetted personally.”

Wang Zheng swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

“I didn’t raise you to waste time with second opinions.”

“I raised you to obey!”

The words hit the room like cold wind.

Yibo didn’t react outwardly.

His face remained expressionless.

He simply nodded again, the barest twitch in his jaw giving away something deeper.

Mr. Qiao watched silently, then glanced at Yibo with a faint smile.

“BoBo always considers things carefully,” he said gently.

“That’s what makes him reliable.”

Yibo didn’t look at either of them.

Just raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment, eyes fixed on nothing.

He had grown up in rooms like these.

Told how to speak.

When to nod.

How to lead.

But never once how to feel.

And even now, surrounded by the people who had raised him—he felt completely alone.

_______________________________________________

The next few weeks at Wang Corps unfolded with practiced rhythm.

But even within the order, subtle cracks began to show.

Zhan was everywhere—always just where he needed to be.

He rearranged schedules before anyone asked.

Flagged potential crises in reports no one had read yet.

He solved problems before they became visible.

Yibo noticed.

He didn’t say anything.

He never did.

But the fact that he hadn’t replaced Zhan said enough.

Still, Zhan is impossible to ignore.

He is talkative.

Flirting with half the office.

Made friends in the mailroom, IT, HR.

Yibo once walked into the lounge and caught him dramatically telling a story to three laughing assistants.

He just stared at him for a moment, turned and walked away.

But that night, he found himself thinking about it longer than he should have.

Zhan has a way of being everywhere and nowhere.

One second, he is charming the staff.

The next, he is beside Yibo, handing over files, discussing profit-loss trends with the vocabulary of a seasoned strategist.

There is no denying it:

Zhan is brilliant.

Intuitive.

Unshakable.

But beneath the surface, Zhan’s mind is sharp and alert.

All that charm Zhan scattered so freely wasn’t just to blend in—it was a tactic.

A way to keep Yibo distracted. Close.

Blind to the true game being played right under his nose.

And Yibo, who had been raised not to trust anyone, starts depending on him.

It began with little things.

One evening, Yibo received an incorrect report that could have been disastrous if presented.

Zhan caught it. Quietly. Fixed it. Never brought it up.

And one weekend, they were invited to an exclusive corporate gala—a sea of designer suits, champagne flutes, and political smiles.

As Yibo’s personal assistant, Zhan naturally accompanied him.

Dressed in a sleek black tux, hair tousled just enough to look careless but calculated.

The music was soft, the lighting dim, and the tension—ever-present.

Yibo stood by the bar, silent, sipping whiskey.

Alone, as always.

Until a woman approached—one of the guests of honor, and more importantly, the daughter of a powerful business tycoon they were trying to win over.

She leaned in, too close, her laughter a bit too loud as she tried to strike up conversation.

Yibo’s eyes flicked toward the crowd.

His posture still, but his grip on the glass tightening ever so slightly.

Zhan saw it—the tension in his jaw, the way he angled his body just enough to retreat.

He didn’t need to speak; discomfort was written all over him.

Yibo couldn’t afford to offend her.

Not here. Not tonight.

Zhan didn’t hesitate.

Zhan stepped between them, positioning himself just slightly ahead of Yibo—enough to create space without drawing attention.

“Mr. Wang,” he said with a cool smile.

“They’re waiting for you by the gallery.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zhan,” he said coolly, finishing his drink and turning to the woman with a small bow.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Zhan led him away effortlessly, shielding him with ease.

Once they were out of earshot, Yibo muttered under his breath,

“She wasn’t taking No for an answer.”

Zhan chuckled softly. “You’re welcome.”

Yibo didn’t respond.

But later that night, as he refilled his glass alone, his mind kept drifting to the moment Zhan had stepped between him and that woman—firm, easy, and protective in a way no one had ever been.

It stayed with him longer than it should have.

__________________________________________________

It starts with a shift.

A glance that lingers just a little longer than it should.

A moment too close, too quiet.

A tension sparks in the air between them—subtle, but undeniable.

Something stirs beneath the surface, electric and hard to ignore.

Not the loud, obvious kind.

It starts simple.

Zhan would stand just a little too close when discussing a file.

His voice would dip lower than needed.

His cologne would trail behind, faint but memorable.

Yibo noticed.

Don’t like it.

But it is there.

And it is growing.

And Zhan? He felt it too.

He is starting to break his own rules.

Not because he wants to.

But because, somehow… Yibo makes it impossible not to.

Sometimes, when Yibo isn’t looking, Zhan stares just a little too long.

Not in calculation—but in conflict.

As if trying to remind himself that what he’s feeling isn’t real—especially with the way his heart keeps betraying him.

And yet, every time his heart skipped at a glance or a brush of fingers, he pulled himself back.

This is not part of the plan.

So he buried it.

He has a mission, and nothing is allowed to get in the way.

Not even the strange weight in his chest whenever Yibo looks at him like he’s someone to trust—someone real.

More than just a shadow.

But shadows have their place.

And Zhan intends to use his to burn everything down.

He keeps his mind sharp.

His motives clear.

In meetings, their eyes would lock across the room.

Neither would look away first.

In the elevator, silence would stretch, thick with everything they didn’t say.

A week later, during an after-hours review, Zhan stood beside Yibo’s desk, their shoulders almost touching.

They spoke in low voices, the office empty except for the hum of the lights above.

As Zhan reached to point something on the screen, his hand brushed Yibo’s.

That moment froze.

Neither moved.

Yibo didn’t look at him, but the pen in his hand stopped moving.

And for a second, Zhan forgot everything.

Then he stepped back. Fast.

He muttered something about pending work and disappeared.

But as he left, his pulse still racing, he knows Yibo is watching.

Yibo, alone in his office, found himself confused.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

He isn’t supposed to feel… anything.

But Zhan has started to occupy space in his thoughts.

Not as a PA.

Not even as a problem.

As something else.

Something dangerous.

________________________________________________

It was late one evening when Yibo was reviewing the expansion reports in his office.

Eyes sharp as he flipped through slide after slide.

Zhan walked in quietly, dropping a fresh cup of coffee on the table.

“Mr. Wang, You’ve been staring at that screen for four hours,” Zhan said casually.

“Even robots need oil breaks.”

Yibo didn’t look up. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“You didn’t.” Zhan said with a shrug, sitting down across from him.

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Yibo sighed.

“What do you want?”

Zhan leaned back in the chair, studying him.

“Just making sure, Mr. Wang, you don’t fall apart before the next board meeting.”

“I’m invested in your survival.”

Yibo shot him a look. “Because that’s your job?”

Zhan gave a half-smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d crack before the spreadsheet did.”

Their eyes met across the desk.

A long, quiet second passed.

Neither of them blinked.

Then Zhan suddenly shifted his gaze, cleared his throat and stood.

“I, uh… just remembered I’ve got some emails to respond to. Back in a bit.”

Yibo watched him leave, his brows drawing together slightly.

He doesn’t say anything, but inside, something stirs—something unfamiliar he doesn’t know how to name.

And Zhan?

He starts feeling like the line between strategy and something more…is starting to blur.
___________________________________________________

That night, the three of them—Wang Zheng, Mr. Qiao, and Yibo—were seated in the private bar at home, sipping their usual drinks, casually talking about business and other things that floated through their minds.

Wang Zheng poured himself a drink and looked at his son. “How’s the new PA?”

Yibo took a quiet sip before answering.

“Efficient. He’s quick with numbers. Even better with people. Sharp at negotiation.”

Wang Zheng nodded thoughtfully.

“Good. We’ve got an issue brewing at the Singapore factory. I want you to fly out and settle it.”

Mr. Qiao glanced between the two of them.

“Take Zhan with you,” he suggested.

“You’ll need someone who can handle the softer negotiations.”

Yibo hesitated. “I can manage it myself.”

Wang Zheng cut in sharply. “If he’s a useful tool, use him properly.”

There was a long pause.

Then Yibo gave a slight nod.

Mr. Qiao smiled faintly. “I’ll arrange the tickets and accommodation.”

“Three days. Both of you.”

As the conversation drifts to other matters, Yibo sits quietly, the glass in his hand forgotten.

His mind, however, isn’t present.

It keeps drifting back to Zhan—his voice, his presence, that unsettling ease he carries.

There is something about him that refuses to stay in the background.

Something that creeps into Yibo’s thoughts when he least expects it.

And that intrusion… it is starting to ruin the peace he’s trained himself to live in.

_____________________________________________________

Later that night, in the quiet of his apartment, Zhan opened his laptop.

With practiced fingers, he encrypted a set of files, attached his daily report, and sent it to the untraceable address he’d used from the beginning.

A string of surveillance details, conversation and updates—all tied to one man: Wang Yibo.

After sending the email, Zhan leaned back in his chair and stared at the photo on the board.

The one in the centre.

The one with Yibo’s face—calm, unreadable, yet suddenly not so distant.

His gaze lingered longer than usual.

“What’s happening to me?”

There is a plan. A mission. A target.

But now, Yibo is becoming something else in his mind.

Not just a means to an end.

Not just a role to manipulate.

Zhan’s jaw clenched.

He can’t even hold that gaze anymore.

He looked away.

And that’s when his phone buzzed on the desk beside him.

He glanced at the screen—and froze.

The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across the room.

It isn’t a name. Just a number.

Untraceable.

But Zhan knew exactly who it belongs to.

The same person he had just sent the encrypted email to.

The one behind everything.

Zhan stared at it, the weight of reality settling over him like a cold fog.

For a split second, he considered ignoring it.

But that isn’t who he is.

He took a breath—deep, resigned, and heavy with something he couldn’t quite name—then pressed the answer button.

He holds the phone to his ear, voice calm, but his heart unsteady.

“He’s starting to trust me. Just like we planned.”

[To Be Continued…]