On the company outing bus, a video message from my rival unexpectedly blared through the speakers.

Dakari, our no-nonsense boss, snapped, "Turn around. I'm a boxing champ."

Santiago from the legal team chimed in, "Prenups are my specialty."

Alondra, our financial guru, eagerly added, "No one can beat me in a financial duel."

Kamryn from PR took out her streaming gear, "Sweethearts, we'll trash their reputation right here."

Even Noa, our receptionist, was eager, "Sis, bring me along! I'm the hype master. The moment they speak, I'll drown them out!"

---

At the end of the year, our company planned a team-building retreat. As the event planner, I got up early to organize everything. Just as I was about to leave, Alan Carlson, smelling of alcohol, stumbled into me as I opened the door.

"Hon, where are you off to with that luggage?" he mumbled, confused.

I replied sharply, "I've told you a dozen times, my company retreat is happening now!"

Upon hearing this, Alan's expression softened. "Oh, that small-time company of yours... I've told you many times, just quit and let me take care of you, but you never listen."

I held back my frustration. "We agreed before getting married not to interfere in each other's careers."

He chuckled, "Go on with your little job, if it makes you happy."

Noticing my displeasure, Alan staggered over and draped an arm around me. "Darling, you see, I network all night for our future. When will you give me a big, bouncing son so our life will have more meaning?"

I pushed him away. "Alan, about having kids, we agreed before marriage..."

"Fine, fine. Just don't be sorry if someone else gives me a kid," he replied smugly.

I grew cold. "Someone else?"

He hesitated, then put on a goofy smile. "We've been together for so many years, who else could there be but you?"

Indeed, Alan and I were childhood sweethearts. Even when he had the opportunity to attend a top-notch university, he chose to stay in the same city for me. After college, we started a business together. During our toughest times, we rented a dingy basement studio.

That winter, the basement's heating system burst, nearly drowning us in our sleep. Luckily, I'm a light sleeper and dragged him out just in time.

That close call left him shaking as he hugged me, promising that one day he'd make sure we'd live in a spacious high-rise. That year, we got married. To save money, we didn't even have a wedding ceremony.

Later, we started a company with some like-minded partners. After a few years of hard work, the company began to show promise. To avoid conflicts, I voluntarily chose to leave during an internal dispute and began a new venture.

I'm currently sitting on the company bus, feeling increasingly irritated as I watch a man leisurely sauntering toward us from afar.

"Mr. Jensen, we've been waiting for you for over 40 minutes."

Fletcher Jensen, dressed in a sleek black trench coat, finally hops onto the bus, flashing a casual smile at everyone:

"Sorry, got turned around during my morning run."

With that, he signals to his assistant, Azrael, to bring up several bags from the back:

"Here, I got coffee for everyone."

Our colleagues cheerfully gather around him. Fletcher is the somewhat unreliable partner I found when restarting my business. Unlike us, who started from nothing, he's one of those affluent heirs who decided to break from the family business to pursue his own ventures. His approach is relaxed and spontaneous, but the silver lining is his generosity and lack of micromanagement.

Our small company consists of just over twenty people, neatly filling the bus. As we get moving, I connect my phone to the large screen to present the itinerary for the upcoming days. Just as I start, a video call from Alan Carlson suddenly pops up. To avoid any awkwardness, I quickly decline it. But then, more calls from him come through in rapid succession.

"Looks like your husband is keeping close tabs on you, Carly," Royalty from the office teases.

Laughter fills the bus, though Fletcher cuts through it with a disapproving scoff. Smiling, I lightly tap Royalty's shoulder and inadvertently hit the accept call button.

On the screen, instead of Alan, a glamorous woman with red lipstick and voluminous curls appears, lounging lazily as if expecting this moment.

It's Shelby Lawrence, Alan's little protégé from his university days.

"Where's Alan?" I ask.

"Alan's in the shower; he mentioned that since you’re out of town for a few days, he decided to meet up with me."

Silence engulfs the bus, broken only by Shelby's soft voice:

"Carly, after all these years since graduation, why are you still so stubborn? Don’t you know Alan prefers a gentle, compliant woman? Why work so hard to become his company's competitor? I’ve heard you’ve snagged a lot of his old clients. That won't sit well with him."

Ignoring her manipulative words, my eyes zero in on the gold necklace around her neck.

"Shelby, what’s that around your neck?"

She covers her mouth with a chuckle:

"Oh, this? Recognize it? Alan gave it to me."

My entire body shakes with anger:

"How dare he?"

Shelby feigns innocence, her eyes wide:

"Why not? Isn't it your mother's keepsake? I found it in your dressing room. It's a bit old-fashioned, but I adore it. Alan is sweet; he knew I liked it and gave it to me."

I clench my fists:

"Shelby, I suggest you return my mother's keepsake immediately, untouched."

The woman on the screen laughs even more gleefully:

"Why don’t you try and take it back? Guess which hotel your dear husband and I are in?"

The screen goes black. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, grab my bag, and walk to the front where Fletcher is seated.

"Sorry, Mr. Jensen, I need to take some time off. Can we stop the bus?"

Fletcher frowns, "You're going alone? You don’t even know the location!"

"I know."

From the back, a young IT guy fresh out of college, Jaiden, raises his laptop, typing furiously:

"I saw the building outside her window in the video. I did a quick cross-reference with the city skyline of New York and, factoring in the sunlight angles and some details I won't bore you with, the address is—Seaview Hotel, room 3202."

He speaks all in one breath, adjusting his glasses, his eyes shining with that fresh-out-of-college clarity.

"Carly, I'll go with you. I can get into any room at that hotel!"

Santiago from legal quietly raises his hand.

"And me, too. Before I joined this company, I specialized in marital disputes and asset division."

Alondra from accounting, already seething, declares her intention to join:

"That woman! I have to go. I’ve never lost a confrontation. From sales to HR, I have a spotless record."

Kamryn from PR pulls out a set of live-streaming equipment from her luggage:

"Count me in, folks. I’ll ensure their public image is utterly wrecked."

Even Noa from reception won't be left behind:

"Take me along, Carly. I might not know much, but I’m great at setting the mood. I’ll boo them every chance I get."

With the atmosphere at a peak, other colleagues eagerly volunteer.

"I want in too; I can cry on cue. I can make the whole hotel, and even the street, empathize deeply."

"Me too! I’m great at causing a scene!"

At that moment, I can't help but think—who needs team-building activities when the company is this united?

"Enough! Quiet down! What do you think this is, a theater production?"

Fletcher stands up abruptly, his towering six-foot-three frame demanding attention.

The bus falls silent again.

He looks at me and asks, "Are you sure about this?"

I nod resolutely.

"Any regrets?"

"Only fools regret this," I reply through gritted teeth.

Fletcher downs the rest of his coffee in one swift motion:

"Turn the bus around, folks. I'm a Muay Thai champion."

For a moment, there's stunned silence, then an eruption of cheers. And just like that, our entire company, in one grand gesture, takes the bus to confront the situation head-on with me.

The driver sped down the road with remarkable speed. Within just over ten minutes, our group was standing outside the target hotel. Considering the size of our party, Fletcher Jensen suggested we select only a few key players to avoid alarming the target.

"Pick me!"

"Pick me!"

"Pick me!"

Fletcher raised his hand to calm everyone down, clearing his throat to speak. "Give me a reason to choose you."

The crowd erupted into a commotion—

"Fletcher, you always say I'm sharp and quick on my feet. You can't leave me out of this!"

"Fletcher, I consistently put in extra hours for the company. I've been labeled a workaholic, but I think I deserve this shot, at least for the effort if not the results..."

"I object! We were the first to volunteer. What are these newcomers even doing here?"

"Exactly! If it weren't for us speaking up, everyone would still be on that dull team-building bus ride. Where's your energy coming from now, huh?"

"Is this a guilt trip or what?"

"Come on, folks! Now's the time for meritocracy. Let's let our skills do the talking!"

...

Amidst the buzzing crowd, Fletcher suddenly locked eyes with me in the corner. His expression changed as he quickly got up from his seat.

"We're all here to support Carly Richardson and resolve her issue. Time is short, so let's be considerate."

With decisive clarity, he announced the chosen team: "Santiago from Legal, Alondra from Finance, Annabelle from HR, and that tech-savvy guy with the glasses. You all come with me. The PR team should get their equipment ready, and I want those of you who regularly hit the gym to follow along. And a few from the morale team should come too, but stay in the back and don’t push forward."

Fletcher's knack for rallying spirits kicked in as he addressed the rest, who were visibly disappointed. "For those not chosen, don't lose heart. Being passed over once doesn't mean you're not excellent. There will be other opportunities. Every experience is a chance to grow..."

Azrael Jensen couldn't hold back any longer and interrupted. "Stop talking, Fletcher! Carly's already heading upstairs!"