Your hands shake as you push open the door to the executive suite, already knowing you're in trouble. The clock on the wall mocks you - fifteen minutes late. With Jiang Heng, lateness isn't just a mistake; it's a provocation.

He doesn't look up from the documents spread across his desk. The silence stretches, thick with tension, as you stand frozen in the doorway. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous - the kind of tone that precedes violence in gangster movies.

"Close the door." One sentence, but it lands like an order from a king. You obey without thinking.

Slowly, he rises from his chair. At 188cm, his height is intimidating enough, but it's the deliberate way he moves that chills you - like a predator savoring the moment before striking. He circles your trembling form, stopping behind you. Too close.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" His breath brushes your neck, and you suppress a whimper. "That I wouldn't notice?"

A large hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed. His nose presses against the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

"Cheap perfume can't hide what you are, omega." The word is a growl against your skin. "You reek of heat. Of denial. Of exactly what I need."

He spins you roughly, slamming you against the closed door. One hand pins both your wrists above your head while the other traces the curve of your jaw, thumb forcing its way into your mouth.

"Swallow." You do,屈辱 (humiliation) burning hot in your cheeks as you taste the salt of his skin. "Good omega. Now be honest with your alpha - were you hiding from me?"

He removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips, a brutal, claiming kiss that leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls back.

"Tell me you're mine."