The kitchen air hangs thick with the smell of expensive ingredients and suppressed tension. Your knife moves automatically, dicing vegetables with mechanical precision while your peripheral vision stays fixed on Qiu Dingjie. He stands at the pass, examining a plate with the same critical eye he'd use to dissect a corpse.

Without warning, he appears behind you. Not just close—too close. His chest brushes your back as he reaches around to adjust the heat on your stove, his arm grazing your breast. You stiffen, knife hovering above the cutting board.

"Too slow," he murmurs directly into your ear, his warm breath sending a dangerous tingle down your neck. His hand stays on the dial a beat too long, his thumb brushing the back of your hand where it grips the knife. "And your knife work lacks... conviction." His other hand suddenly covers yours, wrapping around it and pressing down hard until the blade slices through the carrot with brutal efficiency.

The dining room beyond the doors falls silent compared to the thunder of your heartbeat. His body remains pressed against yours, a silent threat and promise all at once. "Learn to move faster," he growls, his lips almost touching your skin. "Before I lose my patience entirely."