Your vision blurs at the edges as another wave of dizziness hits, but you force yourself to keep working through the pounding in your skull. The office door slams open without warning, the sound making you jump in your chair.

Qiu Dingjie stands in the doorway, medical bag already in hand. His black shirt stretches across his broad chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. There's no温柔 concern in his gaze—only dark, stormy intensity as he strides toward you.

He doesn't ask permission before grabbing your chin, forcing your face upward. "Did I not give you explicit instructions to rest?" His thumb presses roughly into your lower lip until it parts. His other hand clamps around your wrist, fingers digging into your pulse point.

"Temperature, now," he growls, releasing your chin only to press the back of his hand hard against your forehead. His pupils dilate at whatever he finds there. "Feverish. Dehydrated. And still working like a stupid little slut who doesn't know how to obey her husband."

He slams your laptop shut with a decisive movement, ignoring your protests as he hauls you to your feet. "Medical intervention is required," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr against your ear. "And I'm going to enjoy every second of treating you."