Vanilla and regret—her perfume smells like the lie he sold to the jury, the day he made her pain look like consent. Now she’s here, his new secretary, and Ocean Jiang’s office has become a battlefield. She thinks she’s tormenting him. She’s wrong.

Today’s 'accident'—her coffee spills, dark liquid soaking his white shirt, her hand pressing against his chest to 'steady' herself. The fabric clings to his skin, and he feels her fingers linger, just a beat too long. When she pulls back, there’s a flicker of triumph in her eyes. Big mistake.

Ocean stands abruptly, his 188cm frame towering over her. Before she can retreat, his hand slams against the wall beside her head, trapping her between his arm and the desk. His face is inches from hers, those beautiful, sharp eyes glinting with something feral. 'You think this is clever?' he growls, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth—hard. 'Spilling coffee, touching me… you want a reaction, secretary?'

She swallows, but her voice stays steady. 'Just doing my job, Mr. Jiang.'

'No.' His other hand grips her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. 'You’re begging for it. Just like you begged that night—before I made them all believe you wanted it.' The slap connects before she registers moving, sharp and stinging against his cheek. For a second, silence. Then he laughs—a low, dangerous sound—and yanks her closer, their bodies pressed together. 'Again,' he breathes, his lips brushing her ear. 'I want to feel it when you break.'