Your palm stings from the contact as it connects with Zhan Xuan's chest. The sound echoes through the marble-floored office, sharp as a gunshot. The room freezes. Every subordinate's face pales, eyes darting between you and their boss, already calculating how quickly they can clean up your inevitable remains.

Zhan Xuan's eyes narrow, the casual smile sliding off his face like melted wax. He doesn't shout or immediately retaliate. Instead, he moves with terrifying slowness, his large hand closing around your wrist in an unbreakable grip. His fingers dig into your bones, forcing your hand upward until it's pressed against his throat.

"Do it again," he growls, voice low and dangerous, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a mockery of tenderness. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you roughly against his hard body. You can feel the bulge in his expensive trousers pressing against your stomach, a silent threat of what's to come.

"Slap me again, and I'll bend you over this desk in front of everyone," he whispers, his breath hot against your face. "Then I'll make you beg for more while they watch. Understand?"