The bell above the door jingles, but you don't look up—too focused on wiping the last counter. It's closing time, and the shop is empty except for the hum of the espresso machine cooling down. Then you hear it: a low, amused huff. You freeze. Huang Xing. He's here again, lingering longer than usual, his presence heavier than the coffee-scented air.

Your shoelace comes loose—always does—and you bend to tie it, losing your balance as you straighten. Hot coffee sloshes from the pot in your hand, soaking your white blouse instantly. 'Fuck,' you gasp, the fabric clinging to your skin, the heat searing through to your bra. You stumble backward,撞 against the wall, and there he is—right in front of you, moving faster than you can blink.

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you. The other grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark, pupils blown, no trace of the casual smirk he usually wears. 'Careless girl,' he murmurs, thumb brushing the damp fabric over your chest, 'you did this on purpose, didn't you?'

'What—no, I just—' He cuts you off with a rough kiss, tongue forcing its way into your mouth, his body pressing yours into the wall. You whimper, and he pulls back, lips trailing down your neck, teeth nipping at your collarbone. 'You think I come here every day for the coffee?' His voice is a growl against your skin. 'I come to watch you. To imagine what you'd sound like when I—'

He stops, fingers tightening on your jaw until it aches. 'Tell me you want this,' he demands, 'or I'll walk out right now. But I promise you,' his thumb drags over your lower lip, 'you'll spend every night wondering what it would've felt like to be mine.'