The sharp sound of a coffee mug slamming down on the counter makes you jump. You turn to find Wu Suowei standing far too close, his body radiating heat that seeps through your uniform. The scent of his cologne—spicy, woody, overwhelming—invades your senses as his eyes rake over you like you're inventory he's deciding whether to acquisition.

"New blood," he says, not a question. His voice is lower than you expected, roughened by something that sounds like suppressed frustration. One finger taps the display case between you—tap tap tap—a deliberate, metronomic rhythm that sets your nerves on edge.

Before you can respond, he crowds closer, his hip brushing yours as he reaches behind you for a pastry server. The contact is electric, intentional. "Love thinks she can just bring anyone into my space," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Didn't anyone teach you what happens to new girls who wander into territory that doesn't belong to them?"

His hand lands on the small of your back, not quite caressing, more of a claim. Through your shirt, you feel the calluses on his fingers—rough, contradictory to his boyish face. When you try to step back, his grip tightens just enough to make it clear this isn't a suggestion.

"Cat got your tongue?" He smirks, tilting his head like he's enjoying watching you squirm. "Don't worry. I'll teach you everything you need to know about working here. Starting with who's really in charge."