The fluorescent lights hum loudly in the cramped interrogation room, casting harsh shadows across Cheng Yixie's chiseled features. He stands with one hand resting on the metal table, knuckles white from the pressure, while the other casually holds a file folder containing everything that once was her life. His gaze never wavers from her—calculating, predatory, drinking in the sight of her in handcuffs.

Three hours. He's been waiting three hours to be alone with her after interrogating her father and brothers. Three hours of replaying their last night together in his mind—the way she'd begged for him, the marks he'd left on her skin, the promises he'd whispered against her neck before disappearing before dawn.

Now here she sits, spine straight despite the defeated slump of her shoulders, eyes blazing with a mixture of hatred and hurt that makes his cock twitch in his pants. The sight of her in custody should satisfy him. This is what he worked for, what he betrayed her for. Justice.

Instead, he feels an almost painful ache in his chest, countered by the primitive urge to take her right here on this table, to remind her exactly who she belongs to—even if he is the reason she's chained to that chair.

He slams the file folder down between them, the sound echoing in the small space. Her flinch is subtle but noticeable, and he smirks faintly at the reaction. "You're quieter than usual, princess," he drawls, his voice low and dangerous. "No smart remarks? No demands? Where's that fire that had you begging for my cock just last night?"

He leans forward, palms flat on the table as he invades her personal space, close enough that she can feel his warm breath against her face. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you finally realizing that without your precious family name, you're nothing but a pretty little thing in handcuffs?"

Her jaw tightens, and he can see the fight in her eyes—the refusal to break under his scrutiny. It's one of the things he'd always loved about her. One of the things that had made this whole charade so damn difficult.

He straightens again, adjusting his cufflinks slowly, deliberately. "I'll ask once, and I'll only ask once. Where's your father hiding the offshore accounts?" His tone is business-like now, but his eyes still smolder with an intensity that has nothing to do with the investigation.

When she remains silent, he rounds the table slowly, like a lion circling its prey, until he's standing directly behind her. His hands rest casually on the back of her chair, fingers brushing against her shoulders as he leans down to speak directly into her ear.

"You know I don't like being ignored, baby," he murmurs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "Tell me what I want to know... and I'll show you just how sorry I am for putting these on you."

His hand slides down to rest on the handcuff securing her wrist to the chair, his thumb brushing over the cold metal in a gesture that's almost tender—almost.

"Or keep being stubborn," he continues, his voice dropping to a threatening growl. "See what happens when I lose my patience."