The Man Who Was My Boss and My Online Lover

Every workday was a battle, and my escape was the internet. I, Tống Tử, a newly minted office drone, had one primary topic of conversation with my online boyfriend, a powerhouse gamer known as Đường Thi: the unrelenting tyranny of my boss, Chu Thận.

Chu Thận, the CEO, was a sight to behold: tall, chiseled, with striking single eyelids and a small, magnetic mole near the corner of his eye. He had the kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover—a tragic shame that his tongue was laced with venom. When he unleashed his temper, the entire office floor trembled.

“This is not a company, it’s a pigsty! You are all useless, pig-headed oafs!”

The roar thundered in the morning meeting. Smack! A thick stack of reports slammed onto the mahogany table. I nearly dropped my phone. I recognized the top report: mine. I shrank deeper into my chair, my fingers flying under the table, frantically typing a message to my dear online savior.

“Babe, I can’t take it anymore! You know that report I spent all week on? That exploitative boss of mine just tore it to shreds, said it was worse than garbage, didn’t even pass elementary school standards! 😭 His eyes must be blind!”

I waited. My screen remained blank. Just as my impatience peaked, a soft chime came from the head of the table. Chu Thận, who moments ago was radiating volcanic rage, picked up his phone. A strange, subtle softness washed over his stern features. He loosened his sapphire-blue tie, his eyes sweeping across the room until they rested on me for a strange, fleeting second.

“Fine. Take your plans and rewrite them. Meeting adjourned.”

He waved a dismissive hand. The meeting ended after barely four sentences—a phenomenon so rare it was spoken of as an impending apocalypse. My colleagues gathered, buzzing. “That was weird! Old Chu usually rants for an hour! He looked at his phone and instantly calmed down. Who messaged him? A girlfriend?”

I hurried back to my desk. My online boyfriend had replied!

“Babe! Hugs! That exploitative boss is too much! How dare he talk about your plan like that? I’ll punch him! 👊”

A wave of warmth washed over me. I burst into a quiet fit of giggles, the morning’s humiliation utterly forgotten.

“Actually, I’m pretty good at this stuff. If you’re confused about anything, just ask me, okay? 😉”

My eyes widened. My online boyfriend, who knew the most intimate details of my life, my frustrations, and even my work problems, was a genius in disguise! This was the biggest lottery win of my life!

Our love story began with a game. As a complete novice, I stumbled into a match and encountered Đường Thi, the game’s reigning champion. My in-game name was Tống Tử, and finding a partner named Đường Thi felt like destiny—so I clung to him, desperately trying to keep him alive. My terrible skills, however, earned me a scathing lecture. I was crushed.

“Sorry, I can’t hold the line. I’m quitting the game forever,” I typed, leaving the team chat.

Half a month later, my friends dragged me back. The moment I logged in, Đường Thi instantly dragged me into a match. I opened his DMs. For two weeks, he had been messaging me, a rising tide of desperation: “Are you mad?” “Seriously, are you really mad?” “Did you really quit?” I imagined the great Đường Thi waking up in a cold sweat, smacking his own face for chasing a noob away.

Then, he turned on his mic. His voice—a deep, magnetic baritone—was a shock. “You’re finally online? Forget what I said. Don’t worry, just lie back and relax. I’ll carry you.”

I silently rubbed my ears, half-annoyed by his earlier rant, half-addicted to his voice. I chose a support hero and, despite my continued amateur play, he stopped shouting. Slowly, we became friends. Then, he proposed: “Let’s be a couple in the game.” I saw no downside to being paired with a dominant champion, so I grudgingly agreed.

One thing led to another. He downloaded the games I played and carried me through all of them, rising to god-tier status in every world. My admiration swelled, and on a whim, I added him on WeChat and posed the bold question: “Should we try dating in real life?”

He replied instantly: “Aren’t we already together?”

I hadn’t realized “in-game couple” meant “real-life relationship” to him. My online boyfriend, the invincible Đường Thi, wailed a mock protest: “Babe, are you toying with me? 😭 I’m too sad to grind games with you now!” The fear of being alone in the vast digital world, and of losing that captivating voice, made me panic.

“No, babe, I was just kidding! I just really want to meet you in real life, that’s why I asked!” I soothed.

“Really? But my best friend is getting married today, I can’t escape. You won’t be angry, right?”

I quickly deflected, saying it was fine. From then on, our online personas, Tống Tử and Đường Thi, were an inseparable couple across every game platform. I learned that he lived in the same city, was my age, and had been my loyal companion through college exams and the daunting transition to work. Now, he was even helping me edit my work reports! What a stroke of cosmic luck!

“Babe, you’re too good!” I raved, praising Đường Thi after his late-night coaching session helped me ace my revised plan.

The next morning, I submitted the updated document. Chu Thận flipped through it and, to everyone’s astonishment, praised me. “Trần Từ’s revised plan is excellent. The content and charts are clear and easy to understand. The data is well-supported. Keep up the good work.”

My colleagues’ jaws dropped. Was he possessed? All I did was add a few charts—was my Đường Thi that powerful?

That afternoon, I excitedly reported my victory to my online love, throwing in a little trash talk about my boss. “Seriously, you’re the best! I followed your advice, and it passed instantly! That exploitative Chu acted like he was possessed today, praising me so much I almost thought he had a crush on me. 😂”

Đường Thi sent a sticker of a cat hiding in a corner. “Babe, I don’t think your boss is that bad. He yells, but he never fires anyone and always gives chances. That shows he’s kind, right?”

I was intrigued. Why was he defending the “exploitative Chu”?

“Babe, do you… like your boss?” he asked after a long pause.

I scoffed. “No way. The exploitative Chu was the same in college—a pretentious genius who thought he was God’s gift. He’s the type my mother used to compare me to, the ‘neighbor’s child’ who set an impossible standard for a mediocre student like me. I hate that kind of fake air.”

“That’s good. At least I’m not fake,” Đường Thi replied, and I sighed in relief. He was just jealous!

“Babe, no matter what you are like, I love you! Don’t worry! Hugs and kisses! 😘” I quickly reassured him.

During a slow moment, Đường Thi messaged again: “Babe, I’m so bored at work. I miss you.”

A naughty idea struck me. “I miss you too! Wanna do something exciting? Send me a few photos of your abs! 😉”

He hesitated: “Are you sure you want to see them?”

Immediately, nine photos arrived. A clear, well-defined hand was lifting a white dress shirt, revealing a solid eight-pack. I zoomed in, my face burning, and noticed something: on the hand that lifted the shirt was a small, distinct mole. Oh my god, I’m such a pervert!

I tried to play it cool: “Stock photos? You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

“Babe, I would never trick you.”

My heart racing, I blurted out: “I’ve seen your photos. Let’s meet.”

Đường Thi instantly replied: “Babe, my best friend just had a baby’s full-month celebration today, I have to go to the party.”

It was a plausible excuse. “Okay, let’s meet next time.”

“Good girl! 😘”

“Hey, babe, do you like the sea? My friend lives in City S, there’s a beach there. If you like it, I’ll send you some pictures.”

Just as I agreed, the phone rang. It was my boss.

I hurried to Chu Thận’s office. He nodded and gave me a rare, friendly smile. I felt a chill run down my spine. The exploitative Chu smiling meant only one thing: doom. Realizing his smile was unsettling, he instantly reverted to his usual cold demeanor.

“Trần Từ, you’ll be traveling with me to City S in a few days for a business trip. Check the weather forecast and pack appropriately.” He waved me away.

I was stunned. He called me up just for that? And why the specific warning about the weather?

On the day of the trip, Chu Thận was surprisingly normal. At the airport, he took my suitcase—I was too flustered to refuse. On the plane, he reminded me to ask the flight attendant for motion sickness medication if I needed it. I nodded and immediately texted my online lover.

“He knew I get airsick! How? I’ve never told anyone at work! I seriously think Chu Thận is planning to kidnap me and sell my organs! 😱”

Đường Thi’s response was a string of six periods.

The flight attendant announced the mandatory phone switch-off. Chu Thận leaned in and spoke softly. “I apologize. I overheard you talking to a colleague last time about your airsickness. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I quickly waved my hands. “It’s fine, boss. Thank you for the reminder.” He’s a worm in my stomach! I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, avoiding three hours of staring at the exploitative Chu.

For the first few days of the business trip, we were busy surveying the factory. As a beginner, I learned a lot from Chu Thận. He was a patient, efficient teacher and maintained a professional distance. My opinion of him was slowly improving.

That’s when Đường Thi’s jealousy flared. “Babe, it’s just a business trip. Are you starting to like your boss?”

When that message popped up, Chu Thận was sitting beside me, typing on his phone. His hands—long, slender, and distinctly veiny—were a work of art, and I suddenly remembered the abs pictures. My heart lurched. Thump. I panicked, quickly locking my screen and leaning away from him.

I dare to like someone else? I quickly typed a reassurance to my frantic online boyfriend. “Babe, you misunderstood. My boss is clearly destined to be alone his whole life. I only respect him; there’s no romantic feeling. You are the only person I love!”

“….” Đường Thi replied.

I was speechless. What was with this adorably arrogant jealous act?

The day of the contract signing, I followed Chu Thận, documents in hand, ready for the final battle. However, I didn’t even need to speak; Chu Thận utterly dominated the negotiations. Frustrated, the opponent turned his attention to me, making a vulgar innuendo: if I “entertained” him for one night, the contract was ours.

Cold sweat broke out. Chu Thận had spent four days here; he clearly valued this deal. I, the corporate novice, was now a liability. I feared he would sacrifice me for the contract.

Instead, Chu Thận’s face went instantly glacial. He picked up a bottle of wine and slammed it onto the table right in front of the man. “I came here myself as a courtesy. If you don’t want to cooperate, we’ll stop right here.” He pulled me up and left.

Back at the hotel, the rival company’s CEO, bringing the offending manager with him, personally apologized in front of Chu Thận and me. He chewed out the offender and then immediately signed the contract. Chu Thận told me to rest, and I returned to my room, feeling a pang of sorrow.

I called Đường Thi. “I feel so useless. I didn’t help my boss at all on this trip; I was just a hindrance. Am I stupid? I always struggle with games and barely pass my exams.” The comfort of his understanding made the dam break, and I started to cry.

My online love frantically soothed me. “It’s not your fault, babe! That man was a pig in a suit. And you worked so hard on your preparation. For a beginner, you did great. Your boss must have seen that. You are not stupid at all. God just wants you to feel the world more slowly. You are just too lovely!”

I froze. Growing up, I was always ordinary, constantly shadowed by stellar peers, which made my parents sigh over my grades. This was the first time I had ever heard such a description: not stupid, but needing to feel the world more slowly—you are lovely. My spirits soared.

“Babe, you are such a good person! I… I really, really want to meet you right now! I want to hug you!” I said, opening the flight booking app. Since the contract was signed, Chu Thận said we could use the remaining time to sightsee, but I didn’t care about anything but seeing Đường Thi.

The other end of the line went silent. If I hadn’t heard his breathing, I would have thought he hung up.

“Babe, I… I still have to…”

I cut him off. “Don’t tell me it’s your best friend again! Why does your friend have an event every day?”

Silence. My finger, scrolling through my phone, froze. A realization hit me like a physical blow.

“You don’t want to meet me, do you?” Every time I brought it up, he had an excuse. Maybe his friend never got married or had a baby. Rage, hot and blinding, shot up to my brain. I hung up, blocked him, and deleted his account. He said I wasn’t stupid, that I was lovely—all lies!

My mind was a mess. Unable to sleep, I opened the game app. Đường Thi was online and invited me to join. I immediately logged out and deleted the app. He wasn’t Đường Thi anymore; he was a deceitful, two-faced liar.

Knock, knock, knock. It was the boss. I quickly lay down and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I had just been crying; I couldn’t let him see me like this. But he persisted, calling my room phone. Grinding my teeth, I answered.

“Trần Từ, are you asleep?”

“What do you think? If you weren’t my boss, I would have hung up already. No, Boss. What is it?”

“I need to talk to you. Open the door.”

My mind instantly conjured images of murder and human trafficking. I instinctively grabbed my phone, ready to call Đường Thi, but remembered I had just blocked him. I opened the police app, dialing 110, and then slowly opened the door just a crack.

Chu Thận stood there, loaded with bags of food. I was especially suspicious of the steaming bowl of my favorite snail vermicelli. Why is he bringing food?

“Boss, it’s late. What do you need?”

Chu Thận held up the bags. “Aren’t you going to invite me in for a moment?” As he moved his arm, the delicious scent of snail vermicelli flooded my senses. Seeing my hesitation, he started unpacking: snail vermicelli, milk tea, chocolate, fries, fried chicken, Coke—all my favorite junk foods.

Okay, anyone who loves snail vermicelli can’t be all bad. I let him in but kept a firm grip on my phone.

Seeing my tension, Chu Thận sighed and pulled out his phone, showing me his WeChat screen. The profile picture and nickname were identical to my beloved Đường Thi. I blinked in confusion. He scrolled down, showing me our chat history, with several unsent messages at the bottom due to my block.

A look of utter misery crossed Chu Thận’s face. “Babe, I am Đường Thi, your online lover. Can you unblock me? We see each other every day already, what’s the point of meeting?”

Đường Thi was Chu Thận. My online love was my exploitative boss. My hands shook, and my phone clattered to the floor. “B-boss, this isn’t funny!” I stammered.

Chu Thận then opened his gaming accounts. All of them bore the ID “Đường Thi,” and his couple account was explicitly paired with “Tống Tử.” It was undeniable: the man who called me pig-headed and useless to my face was the same man who messaged me “Babe, hugs!” every night and even encouraged me to insult him. Fck! Just let the apocalypse come!*

This was a catastrophic emotional accident, but Chu Thận dared not raise his voice. His tone was gentle and pleading. “Babe, I just went out to buy you food. Eat a little, okay?”

I managed a cold, tight “Mm.” But a storm was raging inside. My online boyfriend was my boss! How could one person be so two-faced? I glanced at his stone-cold face, unable to believe this man could sweetly utter the words “Babe, I love you.”

Chu Thận grew increasingly anxious, reaching for my hand but stopping mid-air. “Babe, I was wrong. You said you didn’t like me, so I didn’t dare to meet you. I was afraid you’d see me and not want me anymore. You said it didn’t matter what I was like, you’d like me anyway. So… can you unblock me?”

Hearing that icy voice turn soft and coaxing, I felt like the peasant had overthrown the landlord. I unblocked him right in front of him, then pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Chu Thận walked away, turning back to look at me three times, sending me a flurry of messages the moment he was out. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb.

Eating my snail vermicelli, I reflected. I had known of Chu Thận since college, where he was a campus legend—a god-tier athlete and a straight-A genius with countless awards. He was the kind of unreachable figure I never thought I would intersect with. Yet, we had been an online couple since then, for three or four years. He guided me in games, helped me study, and possessed a beautiful voice and hands. I fell for him, and I constantly craved a real-life meeting.

Now that it had happened, I felt shy. I still felt like I couldn’t measure up to a man like Chu Thận. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. He had made up one ridiculous excuse after another to avoid me! He needed to be taught a lesson, or he’d get away with it.

I finished my meal and checked our chat history. A new message had appeared: a goofy heart emoji, waiting for his beloved to forgive him. I knew it! He must have stolen that overly cheesy status from some middle schooler’s collection. How else could he be so sickeningly sweet?

I couldn’t help but reply: “Six.”

Chu Thận instantly sprang to life, barraging me with questions. “Is the snail vermicelli good? Is the milk tea okay? Have you forgiven me yet? 🥺”

I knew it. Sleepiness hit me, so I turned off my phone and snuggled into bed.

The next morning, I woke up to 99+ notifications on WeChat. “Babe, are you asleep? Did you not see my messages? Should I send them again? Is your network bad? Did your data run out?”

There was also a notification from my service provider: my number had been credited with one million VND in calling fees by an anonymous user at 3:00 AM. Chu Thận hadn’t stopped messaging, switching tactics to a frantic spam of his abs photos, including one where his shirt was clearly soaked. Then, his spirit seemed to break, and he lamented how much he wanted to climb the wall to my room but dared not. He was going insane through the screen.

Chu Thận was truly redefining the word “genius” for me.

With the mask off, Chu Thận and I weren’t rushing back to the office. We decided to spend the remaining free day at the beach. Chu Thận treated me like a goddess. The difference in his behavior from his office persona was jarring. He wanted to scoop me up and not let my feet touch the sand. Sunscreen, clothes, shoes—everything was meticulously prepared. Even the daily itinerary included a few surprisingly thick-skinned items, like “kiss three times” written right on the schedule.

When I tried to wear a cute dress for a seaside photo, Chu Thận dragged me back, insisting I cover myself from head to toe. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Go play by yourself first!”

He shook his head, looking pitiful. “Babe, you still haven’t forgiven me.”

I was exasperated. I knew he could see I was just messing with him. I smiled sweetly. “I forgive you. Now, can you let me go?”

Chu Thận’s eyes lit up. He immediately placed a quick peck on my cheek before I could object, then took the most gorgeous photos of me. Fine, I thought, I’ll let it slide because of the good photos. A crack began to form in my stubborn heart.

In the late afternoon, we went jet skiing. The instructor showed me once, and I was zipping across the water. Then I tried to teach Chu Thận. Thirty minutes later, a pale-faced Chu Thận returned. The instructor whispered to me, “Your boyfriend is weak; he got seasick.”

Chu Thận, looking sheepish, insisted, “I’m not sick; I just can’t control this thing!”

I laughed until I could barely stand. Finally, a sport Chu Thận wasn’t good at! I continued to practice, getting so good that the instructor allowed me to take Chu Thận out for a spin. The whole time, Chu Thận clung to my waist, eventually realizing it wasn’t so scary after all, just a few splashes. He relaxed and started showering me with kisses.

“Ah, babe, you’re amazing!”

The praise made me happy, and I performed a few stylish maneuvers, savoring the feeling of being the admired “big sister.” After watching the sunset, we left City S.

Back at the office, everything felt surreal. Just before the trip, I was complaining to my online love about the “exploitative Chu.” After the trip, the “exploitative Chu” was my online love, and we were officially a couple. My anger had long dissolved in the seaside air. I was actually getting used to the reality of my cold-faced boss calling me “Babe” in the most sugary voice imaginable.

During the post-trip report, Chu Thận praised me profusely in front of everyone, highlighting my positive attitude. I blushed, embarrassed.

Then came the classic morning meeting scenario. Chu Thận flipped through the reports and, as expected, scowled and started to get angry. I instinctively opened the chat box with the “Babe” nickname to vent my frustration. The ping from Chu Thận’s phone on the table made me freeze. I had forgotten. Babe was Chu Thận. I quickly retracted the message, flipped my phone face-down, and played dead.

Chu Thận glanced at his phone, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, then looked at me. My back went rigid. My colleagues, too, were barely breathing. But Chu Thận’s expression visibly softened, and the meeting concluded quickly.

Outside the conference room, my colleagues gossiped. “I bet that message was from his girlfriend. Only she can calm the boss down in three seconds.”

“Thanks, sister-in-law!”

I rubbed my nose, saying nothing. They were right; the boss’s girlfriend was indeed me.

Sure enough, the marshmallow with a black sesame heart that was Chu Thận immediately messaged me: “Babe, were you talking bad about me again? 😭 I’m so sad. I wanted to show you my different side, and you still only like to scold me.”

I was speechless. There were times I loved him so much I wanted to call the police. But Chu Thận didn’t stop, his texts pouring in. *“What did you retract? Why aren’t you answering? Do you not love me anymore? accompanied by an innocent blinking eye sticker.

I replied: “I don’t talk much; it was just a slip of the finger. I still love you.”

Chu Thận replied instantly: “I love you too, babe! 😘”

We settled into the routine of a true couple. We constantly messaged during the workday. “Babe, I miss you.” “Me too.” Followed by a seductive abs picture. In every meeting, even sitting in the same room, he would secretly text: “You look so pretty today, babe. 😍”

After the meeting, Chu Thận would pretend to call me back into his office, close the door, and then demand a kiss. I once casually mentioned I wanted milk tea, and he used it as an excuse to buy for the entire office, ordering my favorite passion fruit flavor just for me. Another day, I mumbled about wanting fruit after lunch. Since then, every noon, the office break room was stocked with various fruits and snacks. When I complained about a coworker targeting me, Chu Thận tore into that person’s report in the next meeting.

Even when I was exhausted after a long day, if I wanted to play a game at midnight, Chu Thận would stay up with me. We’d both show up to work the next morning with panda eyes. He indulged me to the heavens, and we were happily drowning in our syrupy love.

Of course, our rosy romance had its bumps. There was the time Chu Thận couldn’t help but criticize my report, accusing me of distraction. He had to video call me that night, kneel and eat durian while coaxing me and helping me fix the plan. Cough, cough, after all, Boss Chu is still my boss.

Our relationship deepened, and my work progressed smoothly. Chu Thận often clung to me from behind, whining. “Babe, let’s go public. I want the whole company to know you’re my girlfriend.” He would then try to tempt me with his good looks and the promise of touching his abs if I agreed to go public. I held back, not out of unwillingness, but shyness. He eventually gave in, allowing me to touch his abs whenever I wanted, continuing to spoil me unconditionally.

My birthday was approaching. We decided to invite colleagues this year, saving the private celebration for next year. We booked a restaurant, but Chu Thận insisted on preparing an activity to make it more fun. We settled on an outdoor BBQ party on a spacious riverside lawn. We carefully checked all the supplies the day before and loaded them into his car trunk.

My birthday fell on a weekday, so we still had to go to work, which meant the dreaded morning meeting. Chu Thận stood at the front, outlining the company’s future strategy. I was seated, letting my mind wander, preoccupied with checking the final details for the party.

Would you like me to continue the story from the end of the meeting to the start of the party?