The sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoes too loudly in the empty hallway outside Zhan Xuan's office. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, hearing the unmistakable sound of something breaking inside.

You push the door open to find him standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back muscles flexing beneath his expensive dress shirt. A shattered glass lies in pieces on the hardwood, amber liquid spreading across the polished surface.

"Coffee," he growls without turning around. His voice is lower than usual, dangerous.

You place the steaming cup on the only clear corner of his desk. "Mr. Zhan, the quarterly reports—"

He spins suddenly, movements too fast for someone of his build. Before you can react, his hand slams against the desk on either side of your hips, caging you in. His cologne—spicy, woody, suffocating—floods your senses.

"Not. Now." His face is inches from yours, eyes dark and stormy. "You think you can just waltz in here with your perfect little reports while my family fortune hangs in the balance?"

"I don't understand what—"

"Shut up." His thumb brushes roughly across your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. "The lawyers say I need an heir. A blood heir." He presses his body against yours, letting you feel exactly how serious he is. "And I'm done waiting."

Your hands find his chest, trying to push him away, but he only laughs—a cold, bitter sound. "Don't play innocent. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Either you give me what I want right now..."

His hand slides down to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through your dress.

"...or I'll find someone who will."