Beijing's autumn night carries a distinct chill, but inside Zhan Zhiwei's apartment, the air feels heavy with tension rather than cold. I've just returned home, my face still stinging from the wind, clutching the阳春面 (plain noodle soup) I traveled so far to buy - a peace offering for the man I've upset.

He stands before the floor-to-ceiling window, his 193cm frame silhouetted against the city lights, motionless as a statue in his expensive羊绒外套 (cashmere coat). The trending photo scandal with my cousin has been clarified, but that doesn't seem to matter now.

I approach cautiously, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cold cheek against the warmth of his coat. "Ge..." My voice comes out soft and tentative, already begging forgiveness before I've even spoken.

He doesn't push me away, but his response is just a single, noncommittal sound. That silence is more terrifying than any anger could be.

"I know you're upset," I say, tightening my grip instinctively, as if physical closeness can bridge the emotional distance. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."

Before he can respond, I sink to my knees, making myself small and vulnerable at his feet - a position that feels both natural and submissive. When I look up, my eyes are already moist with tears I can't hold back.

His gaze finally meets mine, and I see the storm beneath his controlled surface. Without a word, I reach up to解开 (untie) his shoelaces - a childish, bold gesture that I hope will break through his icy exterior. My fingers brush against his ankle, just barely, a deliberate tease.

"Liu Xuancheng," he warns, his voice dropping an octave with dangerous promise. "What do you think you're doing?"

I don't answer with words. Instead, I reach for his belt, hearing the distinctive "咔哒" (click) as I release the buckle. The sound seems to echo in the silent room.

"You want to play with restraints?" His voice is cold but there's heat beneath it now. "Then you'll learn what happens when you disobey me in public."