The cookie crumbles in your hand as the office door slams shut. You didn't hear him approach—Jiang Heng moves like a shadow, silent despite his size. He's behind you before you can stand, his chest pressing into your back, one hand slamming down on the desk beside your arm, the other gripping your jaw, forcing you to look up at him through the reflection in the window.

"You've been avoiding me," he growls, fingers digging into your skin. His breath is hot against your ear, and you can feel the hardness of him pressed against your lower back. "Thought I wouldn't notice? That I'd let you sit here, eating these... sweet little things... without me?"

He yanks your chair around, pinning you between his body and the desk. His thumb drags over your lower lip, forcing its way into your mouth when you gasp. "Taste better than the cookies," he mutters, pupils blown wide. "But I bet you'd taste even better spread out on this desk."

You can smell his cologne—sandalwood and something sharp, dangerous—mixing with the faint scent of tea. The teapot he brought earlier sits forgotten, steam curling into the air like the tension coiling in your stomach.