The following days blurred into a carefully orchestrated routine—Shen Jiawen balancing her regular work duties and private encounters with Lu Zeyan, all while pretending they were nothing more than business partners. But behind closed doors, the tension between them crackled like live wire.
Each time they met for work, he would watch her with those dark eyes—calculating, devouring. Each night they spent together after the office hours, his hands on her skin felt both possessive and worshipful, as if he was claiming her with every breath.
But something shifted one morning when she arrived at the office.
A bouquet of white lilies—her favorite—waited on her desk.
A simple card read: "For your brilliance and your strength. –Z"
Her heart squeezed. She wanted to smile, to let the warmth of that gesture fill her chest. But there was no room for softness in this arrangement.
She tucked the card into her bag, refusing to let her colleagues see her rattled.
She had just finished a meeting with the creative team when the elevator doors opened and someone she hadn't seen in a long time stepped out.
Li Yufei.
The ex who had taught her the bitter taste of betrayal.
Tall, with a confident smirk and an expensive suit, he scanned the office as if it still belonged to him.
Jiawen froze, her mind spinning. She hadn't expected to see him again—definitely not here, not now.
"Jiawen," he said smoothly, that old smile sliding into place. "You look… even better than I remember."
Her stomach twisted. "What are you doing here, Yufei?"
"I have a meeting with Director Liu. My company is collaborating with yours on a joint venture." He tilted his head. "Surprised to see me?"
She forced a polite smile. "No, just busy."
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as they swept over her. "You're still as cold as ever."
"I'm not here to discuss the past," she said firmly.
"Of course." His lips twitched. "But you should know—I never stopped thinking about you."
Her jaw clenched. She pushed past him and made her way back to her office, ignoring the heat in her face. But she could feel his gaze on her back.
The encounter haunted her all afternoon. Memories of his lies, the nights she'd spent crying after discovering his affair—it all came flooding back.
When she left work that evening, she found Lu Zeyan waiting for her by the entrance. He leaned against his car, arms folded over his chest. Even in the soft glow of streetlights, he looked impossibly dangerous.
"Get in," he ordered.
She didn't argue. The moment she sat in the passenger seat, he reached over and took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Who was he?"
Her pulse jumped. "Who?"
"The man from earlier," he said, his voice low and controlled, but she could hear the simmering edge beneath it. "You looked… rattled."
"An ex," she admitted. "We haven't spoken in years."
He released her chin, but his hand stayed on her thigh, his thumb pressing into her skin. "He's nothing."
She swallowed. "It's just… complicated."
He didn't respond, but the silence in the car grew heavy, charged. The way his fingers tightened on her thigh spoke volumes.
When they reached her apartment, he followed her inside without a word. She expected him to press her against the wall, to claim her in that fierce way that always left her breathless.
Instead, he sat on the edge of her couch and watched her.
"You still think of him?" he asked quietly.
She flinched. "No."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He stood and closed the distance between them in two steps, his presence a wall of heat and command. His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair. "I don't like sharing," he murmured against her ear. "And I won't."
"Lu Zeyan—"
But before she could finish, he kissed her.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
A bruising, demanding kiss that stole her breath, that made her knees go weak. He angled her head back and devoured her mouth, as if he was punishing her for even remembering another man's name.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with possessiveness.
"Mine," he said hoarsely. "Do you understand?"
She could only nod, her lips swollen, her breath ragged.
He didn't let her go. His hands slipped under her blouse, pushing it up and over her head in one fluid motion. Her bra was next, his fingers unhooking it with practiced ease.
"You're shaking," he said softly.
"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.
"No," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "You're afraid of how much you want this."
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. She clung to him, her heart racing.
When he laid her on the bed, he stood back and stripped out of his jacket, his shirt, his belt—his movements deliberate, controlled.
Every time he undressed in front of her, it felt like he was stripping her soul bare too.
He climbed over her, his weight pinning her to the mattress. "Tell me you're mine," he commanded.
She hesitated.
His hand slid between her thighs, cupping her heat through her panties. She gasped, her hips arching involuntarily.
"Say it," he growled, his fingers pressing harder. "Say you're mine."
She closed her eyes, shame and need coiling together in her gut. "I'm yours," she whispered.
"Louder," he demanded, his thumb circling her most sensitive spot.
"I'm yours," she gasped, her voice breaking.
Satisfied, he tore her panties away and replaced his fingers with his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat, flickering tongue, the scraping edge of his teeth that made her cry out.
Her hands fisted in the sheets, her body trembling as he drew her closer and closer to the edge. When she finally shattered, he didn't stop—didn't let her come down from that peak. He kept pushing, making her feel everything until she was writhing under him, begging
When he finally moved up her body, his expression was both tender and fierce.
He entered her with one smooth thrust, filling her completely. She gasped at the sudden, delicious stretch, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"You're mine," he repeated, his voice ragged. "Every inch of you."
She couldn't speak, could only meet his thrusts with her own, the friction of their bodies pushing her closer and closer to the brink again.
Each time he pulled back, he would pause just enough to make her ache with need. Each time he drove into her, he did it like he was branding her with his claim.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her cries muffled against his shoulder.
When he came, it was with a low, possessive groan, his teeth grazing her neck as if to mark her.
Afterward, he didn't move away. He stayed over her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths tangled.
"You're not allowed to think of him," he said quietly, his lips brushing her temple. "Not when I'm the one inside you."
She shivered, both from his words and from the truth in them.
"I don't," she said softly. "Not anymore."
He kissed her again, this time slow and searching, as if to confirm her promise.
The next morning, she woke to find him already dressed, standing by her window and looking out at the city.
"You're leaving?" she asked, her voice still husky with sleep.
"For now," he said, glancing at her. "We have work to do. But I'll be back tonight."
Her heart thudded. "Zeyan—"
"Don't say it," he cut her off. "Not unless you mean it."
She swallowed her words and watched as he left the room.
When the door clicked shut, she lay back against the pillows, her body still thrumming with his touch.
She knew she was in dangerous territory. That the lines between them were blurring more every day.
But as she drifted back to sleep, she also knew one thing:
No matter how this ended, she was already his.
End of Chapter Nine.