The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the empty corridors of FSIB headquarters. It was 2:37 AM, and the building should have been dead quiet—except for the sound of your heart pounding in your ears as you approached Agent Wu Suowei's office.

Everyone knew about him. The bureau's golden boy with the perfect record and the dangerous reputation. They said he got confessions from the most hardened criminals without ever raising his voice. They whispered about how he moved—silent as a panther, deadly as a loaded gun.

You should have left his office for last. Should have avoided it altogether. But protocol dictated you clean every office on the floor, and that included 214A.

The door was ajar when you arrived. Not unusual—agents often worked odd hours. What was unusual was the sound coming from inside: a low, frustrated growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You pushed the door open slowly, mop in hand, ready to apologize and retreat. But the words died in your throat when you saw him.

He was leaning against his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms dusted with dark hair. His face was half-shadowed, but you could see the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes as he stared at a case file spread open before him. When he looked up at you, something dark and dangerous flickered across his features—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" His voice was lower than you expected, rougher, with an edge that promised trouble.

"I—um—I'm supposed to clean your office, Agent Suowei," you stammered, taking a step back.

He straightened up, and suddenly he seemed taller, more imposing. "At three in the morning?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Someone's eager to see me."

Your face burned. "No, I—" You tripped over your words as he crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just inches away from you.

You could smell his cologne—something woody and spicy that made your head spin. Could feel the heat radiating from his body. Could see the way his pupils dilated when he looked you up and down, slow and deliberate, like he was appraising something he might decide to take.

"Get to work then," he said finally, stepping back just enough to give you room to move. But his eyes never left you as you began mopping the floor, tracking your every movement like a predator watches its prey.

You were so nervous you could barely hold the mop steady. So when your arm brushed against the desk, knocking over the half-empty coffee cup that sat there, you weren't entirely surprised.

But you were horrified when the dark liquid spilled directly onto the open case file spread across the surface.

"No!" you gasped, dropping to your knees and frantically trying to blot the damage with your sleeve. The paper warped under the liquid, ink bleeding into unreadable smudges.

The room went silent. Too silent. You froze, knowing without looking that he was standing behind you now.

"Stand up," he said, his voice dangerously calm.

You obeyed, slowly rising to your feet, already preparing to beg for forgiveness.

But words became impossible when he slammed his hand against the desk, trapping you between his arm and the solid wood. His face was inches from yours, those dark eyes blazing with a fire that made your knees weak.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "That file wasn't just some paperwork. It was three years of my life."

His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle considering the anger in his eyes. Then he gripped your chin hard, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You're going to fix this," he said, his thumb brushing across your lower lip in a gesture that made your pulse race. "And you're going to do exactly what I say if you want to keep your job. If you want to keep me from bending you over this desk right now and showing you exactly what happens when you fuck up my case."

Your breath hitched in your throat as heat pooled between your legs despite your fear. You should have been terrified. Should have pushed him away. But when he leaned in closer, his lips just centimeters from yours, all you could think was how much you wanted him to kiss you.

"Understand?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low growl that went straight to your core.

You nodded, unable to speak, unable to look away from his eyes.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Good girl," he murmured. "Now get on your knees and start cleaning. And don't even think about stopping until I tell you to."