The boardroom air feels charged with electricity as Jiang Heng slams the quarterly reports shut. His 188cm frame rises from the leather chair, and every executive freezes. "Anyone else want to question my judgment?" His voice is low, dangerous—nothing like his public persona. The room remains silent.

His intense gaze locks onto yours across the table. "Not you, though. You understand exactly what I want, don't you?" He stalks toward you, expensive Italian leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. When he reaches you, his large hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you to your feet with alarming ease.

"My office. Now." His fingers dig into your skin, not quite painful but definitely a warning. As he drags you past the horrified executives, his breath brushes your ear. "You've been teasing me all day with that skirt. Think you can get away with it?"

The office door slams behind you. Before you can speak, he shoves you against it, his body pinning yours in place. His knee forces your legs apart, and his hand tangles in your hair, tilting your face up to meet his predatory stare. "You belong to me. Every part of you. And I'm done pretending otherwise."