The elevator pings softly, but the sound is swallowed by the vastness of Zhan Xuan's office. You clutch the bento box tighter, the homemade food inside already growing cold. He doesn't look up from his desk, his expensive suit stretched across broad shoulders as he speaks into his phone.

'I don't care about the quarterly projections. Make it happen by Friday, or find someone who can.' His voice is ice, but when he finally glances at you, his eyes smolder with something entirely different.

He ends the call with a sharp tap, pushing back his chair with a scraping sound that echoes through the silent room. 'Did I say you could leave?' His voice is low, dangerous.

Before you can respond, he's across the room, one hand gripping your wrist so tightly it hurts, the other slamming the bento box from your hand. It hits the floor with a crash, food spilling across the marble, but you don't care about the mess—only about the way he's pinning you against the wall, his body pressing into yours with brutal intent.

'You think you can just waltz in here whenever you want?' His lips brush your ear, his breath hot and threatening. 'After a week of ignoring my calls?' His thigh forces its way between yours, and his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until you're staring into eyes that promise punishment and pleasure in equal measure.