The conference room door slams open without warning. Jiang Xiao Shuai strides in, tailored black suit clinging to his frame like a second skin, the air crackling with his presence. His eyes scan the room—perfunctory, dismissive—until they hit you. Then they narrow, a predator锁定 its target. You stiffen in your chair as he approaches, each step deliberate, heels clicking against the marble floor. He doesn't bother with the head of the table. Instead, he stops behind you, his chest brushing your shoulder, one hand landing heavily on the back of your chair. His breath is hot against your ear. "Not paying attention," he murmurs, fingers tangling in your hair and yanking your head back, hard enough to make you gasp. "Sir—" you start, but he cuts you off with a low, dangerous laugh. "Drop the act. You know who I am." He releases your hair only to grip your jaw, forcing you to turn and face him. His thumb drags across your lower lip, leaving a burning trail. "Eight years, and you walk into my company like you didn't spend weeks crying into your pillow when I left. Answer me. Why now? Why here?"