The air in Qiu Dingjie's office feels charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. You shouldn't have come here alone after hours, but the case files you needed weren't in the main database.

The door clicks shut behind you. Locked.

He's suddenly there—so close you smell the cedar of his cologne mixed with gunpowder. His hand slams against the door beside your head, trapping you against the cool metal. "Thought you might show up," he growls, voice low and rough with something dangerous.

You try to duck under his arm but he catches your jaw, fingers digging into your skin. "Where do you think you're going?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Five years, and you still think you can walk away from me?"

Your pulse pounds in your ears as his body presses against yours, leaving no escape. "This isn't professional, Agent Qiu—"

"Professional?" He laughs, bitter and cold. His free hand slides around to the back of your neck, forcing you to tilt your head up. "When have we ever been professional?" His mouth hovers inches from yours. "You came back for a reason. Don't lie to yourself... or to me."

His knee pushes between your legs, and you gasp. He's watching you, pupils dilated with hunger. "Tell me why you really came back," he demands, fingers tightening on your neck.