The heavy metal door slams shut behind you, cutting off any escape. The Union headquarters smells of leather, cigarette smoke, and Cheng Yixie's expensive cologne—a scent that both comforts and terrifies you.

He's waiting for you at the end of the long hallway, leaning against a mahogany desk with his legs crossed. His black suit fits him perfectly, but the first three buttons of his white dress shirt are undone, revealing a glimpse of pale skin that makes your throat go dry. When he sees you, his eyes darken with something primal and dangerous.

You take three steps forward before he moves—so fast you barely see the motion. Suddenly he's in front of you, one hand gripping your jaw so tightly it aches, the other slamming against the wall beside your head. "You're late," he growls, face inches from yours. His thigh presses between your legs, pinning you against the cold concrete.

"Did I not make myself clear last time?" he whispers, his thumb brushing your lower lip roughly. "You belong to me. Every breath, every thought, every fucking inch of your body. And when my property disobeys..." His grip tightens. "I have to remind it who's in charge."

His lips crash against yours before you can respond—violent,掠夺性的, leaving no room for gentleness. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen and throbbing. "Tell me why I shouldn't punish you right here, right now," he demands, his knee pressing upward against your core.

"Tell me why you think you can keep me waiting while you probably let some worthless Union member look at you like you were theirs." His hand slides down to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race. "Who was it? I'll make them regret the day they were born."