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Chapter Text

Wu Suowei checked his watch for the third time, the expensive timepiece reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the high-end Beijing shopping mall. His brow twitched, a hairline fracture in his usually composed porcelain mask.

If Jiang Xiaoshuai wasn’t his best friend—and, more importantly, the only person currently capable of smuggling him the insider specs for the upcoming trade expo—Wu Suowei would have abandoned this spot twenty minutes ago.

"I'm going to be late, just hang around," the text had read.

"Hang around," Wu Suowei muttered, the words tasting like sour grapes. "Easy for you to say."

He shoved his phone into his pocket with a huff. He felt out of place here. Around him, couples strolled arm-in-arm and families bickered over lunch options. It was a sea of domestic normalcy, something Wu Suowei, with his struggling trading company and empty apartment, felt entirely disconnected from.

He turned a sharp corner near a display of luxury fountain pens, intending to do another lap of the floor to burn off his restless energy, when something small and solid collided with his shin.

Thump.

"Oof!"

Wu Suowei stumbled back, looking down. A small boy, no older than four, had bounced off his leg like a rubber ball and landed squarely on his padded bottom. The child blinked, stunned. He looked up, his large, dark eyes widening as his lower lip began to tremble, curling downward in the prelude to a wail that threatened to shatter the shop windows.

Panic flared in Wu Suowei’s chest, sharp and cold. He was good at negotiating contracts; he was terrible with crying children.

But as the boy drew in a massive breath for the first scream, something softened in Wu Suowei. He saw the genuine fear in the kid's eyes—the terror of being small in a world of giants.

Wu Suowei crouched down instantly, disregarding the crease it would put in his trousers. He brought himself to eye level, his demeanor shifting from annoyed businessman to gentle guardian in a heartbeat.

"Whoa, easy there, little warrior," Wu Suowei said, his voice dropping to a surprisingly soft, honeyed timber. He reached out, steadying the boy by his small shoulders. "Did the floor attack you? It’s very rude, isn't it?"

The boy, Doudou, paused. The scream died in his throat, replaced by a confused sniffle. He blinked away a tear. "Uncle…"

"Uncle is gone?" Wu Suowei guessed, his heart pinching with sympathy. He scanned the area. The mall was a blur of strangers' faces, indifferent and rushing. Logically, he should pick the kid up and walk to the Service Desk on the first floor. But the kid looked petrified, trembling like a leaf. Dragging him away might trigger a meltdown.

"Tell you what," Wu Suowei said, a playful glint entering his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, unopened pack of tissues printed with a cartoon bear. He waved it with a flourish, like a magician revealing a dove. "If you hold those tears inside, I'll show you how to make this bear dance. Dealing with missing uncles can wait a minute. But a dancing bear? That's urgent."

Doudou hiccuped, entranced. He reached out a chubby hand. "Dance?"

Wu Suowei smiled, and it wasn't his sharp, practiced business smile. It was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Doudou giggled, reaching for the tissues.

Twenty meters away, Chi Cheng froze.

For the last ten minutes, Chi Cheng had been scanning the crowd with the cold, predatory focus of a hawk hunting in tall grass. A rare, icy spike of fear had been hammering against his ribs. He had turned his back for one second to look at a silk tie, and Doudou—his sister's precious, chaotic son—had vanished.

But the fear evaporated the moment he spotted the familiar blue puffer jacket.

Doudou was safe. He was standing near the luxury pens. But Chi Cheng didn’t rush forward. His feet, usually so sure and commanding, seemed rooted to the polished tile floor.

There was a man crouched in front of Doudou.

Chi Cheng was not a man easily impressed. He was wealthy, powerful, and bored. He dealt with people constantly—flatterers, schemers, beauties who wanted his money—and they all blurred into gray noise.

But this man…

Chi Cheng watched as the stranger made a ridiculous face, puffing out his cheeks to mimic the cartoon bear on the tissue packet, causing Doudou to shriek with delighted laughter. The stranger smiled then, and it felt like the air in the mall suddenly grew thinner.

He was striking. Sharp features that suggested a prickly personality, softened by a moment of pure, unadulterated kindness.

Beautiful, Chi Cheng thought. The word felt foreign, heavy in his mind.

He watched the way the stranger’s pale, slender hand gently patted Doudou’s head—careful, protective, reassuring. A strange, smoldering heat curled in Chi Cheng’s chest, distinct from the relief of finding his nephew. 

It was a pull, magnetic and undeniable. He felt like a love-struck teenager, a feeling so absurd for a man of his temperament that he almost laughed. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to walk over there, not just to retrieve the child, but to see if that radiant smile would stay on the man's face if he looked at Chi Cheng.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

The phone in his pocket vibrated violently against his thigh. It was his sister.

The trance broke. Chi Cheng shook his head, physically forcing his features back into their usual mask of indifference, though his pulse was still hammering a strange, new rhythm. He answered the phone, his voice clipped. "I found him." He hung up before she could say anything.

He adjusted his cuffs and strode forward. The predator was back in control.

Wu Suowei was busy explaining to Doudou why eating the tissue paper was not part of the magic trick when a shadow fell over them. It was a large, consuming shadow that seemed to block out the mall lights.

"Doudou."

The voice was a baritone rumble. It was deep, commanding, and vibrated right through the floorboards into Wu Suowei’s knees. It was the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed instantly.

Wu Suowei stopped moving. A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, ran down his spine. He slowly stood up, brushing off his knees, and turned around to face the owner of that voice.

"Uncle!" Doudou cheered, abandoning his savior to hug the stranger's leg.

Wu Suowei looked up. And up.

The man was tall. Imposingly, unreasonably tall. He wore a dark, bespoke suit that fit his powerful frame like a second skin, emphasizing broad shoulders and a chest that looked like it could withstand a battering ram. But it was his face that stole Wu Suowei’s breath.

His features were carved from granite—sharp jaw, high cheekbones—and his eyes were dark pools of intensity that seemed to burn with dangerous intelligence. He radiated an aura of dominance that felt wild and out of place in a family shopping mall.

Oh, Wu Suowei thought, his breath hitching in a traitorous way. He’s… trouble.

It wasn't just handsome; it was an aggressive, suffocating kind of attractiveness that made Wu Suowei’s brain short-circuit. He had intended to scold the negligent guardian, to deliver a biting remark about watching one's children, but the words died on his tongue, turned to ash by the heat of the man's gaze.

Chi Cheng stared down at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were locked on Wu Suowei’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

"I…" Wu Suowei cleared his throat, desperate to regain his composure. He felt exposed, as if this stranger could see right through his clothes. "He… uh… bumped into me."

Chi Cheng didn't look at his nephew. He didn't look at the passersby. He only looked at Wu Suowei.

"I see," Chi Cheng said. His voice dropped an octave, smoother than expensive whiskey and just as intoxicating. "Thank you for watching him. He has a habit of running toward… interesting things."

The pause before "interesting things" was heavy. The air between them grew thick, charged with an electric tension that made the hair on Wu Suowei’s arms stand up. He felt pinned in place by those dark eyes, like a butterfly stuck on a board.

"Interesting things," Wu Suowei repeated faintly, his usual sharp wit seemingly evaporated.

At his feet, Doudou tugged on the man's expensive trouser leg. "Uncle, look! He made the bear dance!"

Chi Cheng’s lips quirked upward. It wasn't a smile, exactly, but a microscopic shift that somehow made him look even more devastating. "Did he now?"

He took a half-step closer. Wu Suowei could smell him now—a blend of tobacco, faint sandalwood, and the crisp scent of winter air. It was overwhelming.

Just as Chi Cheng looked like he was about to say something else—something that might change the trajectory of Wu Suowei’s entire week—hurried footsteps slapped loudly against the mall tiles.

"Da Wei! Da Wei, I’m so sorry!"

Jiang Xiaoshuai came skidding around the corner, clutching a plastic bag of convenience store snacks, his face flushed red from running. He was looking only at Wu Suowei, completely oblivious to the towering dark figure standing next to him.

"The meeting dragged on, and then the traffic on the ring road was a nightmare," Xiaoshuai panted, waving a hand frantically. "I swear, if the Boss makes us redo that vendor list one more time, I’m going to throw myself into the river—"

He finally looked up. His eyes slid from Wu Suowei to the man standing mere inches away.

The complaint died in Xiaoshuai’s throat with a audible gurgle. His face went from red to sheet-white in a nanosecond. The snack bag slipped from his fingers, crinkling loudly as he froze, his posture stiffening into a terrified salute.

"B-Boss?" Xiaoshuai squeaked, his voice cracking like a teenager's.

Wu Suowei blinked, snapping out of his trance. He looked from the handsome, terrifying stranger to his best friend, who looked like he was facing a firing squad. "Boss?"

Chi Cheng finally tore his gaze away from Wu Suowei to look at Jiang Xiaoshuai. The heat that had been simmering in his eyes cooled instantly into the impassive, authoritative stare that terrified his employees at headquarters.

"Mr. Jiang," Chi Cheng said coldly.

"I—uh—yes! Hello! I didn't… I didn't expect to see you here, sir!" Xiaoshuai stammered, sweating profusely. Seeing CEO Chi Cheng in the wild was bad enough; seeing him looming over Wu Suowei like a wolf contemplating a meal was infinitely worse.

Xiaoshuai’s eyes darted down and saw the toddler attached to Chi Cheng’s leg. "Oh! And Doudou is here too."

"He got lost," Chi Cheng said simply. But his eyes didn't stay on Xiaoshuai. They drifted back to Wu Suowei immediately, hungry and curious. "Your friend found him."

Xiaoshuai looked between the two of them. He saw the faint flush on Wu Suowei’s cheeks, and the intense, calculating way Chi Cheng was staring at him.

Oh no, Xiaoshuai thought. Or… oh yes?

A gear clicked in Xiaoshuai’s panic-stricken brain. Chi Cheng had been tearing the office apart all week, firing managers left and right because he couldn't find a competent trading partner for the new export line. And Wu Suowei… Wu Suowei was the best trader Xiaoshuai knew.

"Boss," Xiaoshuai started, his voice gaining a shaky confidence as he realized this might be his salvation. "This is Wu Suowei."

Chi Cheng waited, his silence demanding a point.

"The one I mentioned in the memo," Xiaoshuai continued hurriedly. "You said you needed a trading company that actually knows how to handle the new customs regulations? Wu Suowei owns a trading firm. He’s the one who handled that impossible shipment for the Liu family last month."

Chi Cheng’s eyebrows rose slightly. The interest in his eyes sharpened, shifting from purely physical to something intellectual. Before, he was looking at a handsome man who saved his nephew. Now, he was looking at a potential treasure.

"Is that so?" Chi Cheng murmured.

He turned his full body toward Wu Suowei. "You run a trading company?"

Wu Suowei straightened his spine. His business instincts kicked in, warring with his fluttering heart. He met Chi Cheng’s gaze, refusing to be cowed. "I do. Wu Trading. We specialize in difficult logistics and import facilitation. If there's a loophole, I find it. If there's a wall, I move it."

Chi Cheng hummed, a low sound that vibrated in the small space between them. "I've been looking for a trading company. The current ones on the market are… disappointing. They lack spine."

He stared at Wu Suowei for a long moment, dissecting him. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a sleek, matte-black business card with gold lettering.

He didn't just toss it over. He stepped closer, invading Wu Suowei’s personal space completely. He held the card out, his fingers long and elegant.

Wu Suowei reached for it. As his fingers grasped the card, his skin brushed against Chi Cheng’s. A spark, hot and electric, jumped between them.

Chi Cheng didn't let go immediately. There was a brief tug-of-war, a silent test of wills. Chi Cheng held the card firm, forcing Wu Suowei to look him in the eye, to acknowledge the weight of the moment.

"Come to my office on Monday morning," Chi Cheng commanded. It wasn't a request. "Bring your company portfolio. If your business skills are as good as your childcare skills, we might have a deal."

He released the card. Wu Suowei felt the loss of contact almost physically.

"I'll be there," Wu Suowei said, his voice steady, though his heart was racing.

Chi Cheng smirked. It was a dark, confident expression that promised complication. He reached down and scooped Doudou up into his arms with effortless strength, settling the boy on his hip.

"Bye bye, Bear Uncle! Bye bye, Little Shuai!" Doudou chirped, waving a chubby hand.

Chi Cheng glanced briefly at Xiaoshuai. "Enjoy your day, Manager Jiang. Don't be late on Monday."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away. The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, leaving a wake of silence behind him.

Xiaoshuai stood frozen until Chi Cheng was well out of earshot. Then, his knees gave out, and he slumped against the nearest pillar, sliding down until he hit the floor.

"I thought I was going to die," Xiaoshuai groaned, clutching his chest theatrically. "I thought he was going to fire me just for breathing the same air as him. Did you feel that? The temperature dropped ten degrees!"

He looked up at Wu Suowei, expecting to see his friend equally shaken. But Wu Suowei was still standing there, staring at the black card in his hand. His thumb traced the raised gold letters: Chi Cheng, CEO, Chi Holdings.

"Wu Suowei?" Xiaoshuai waved a hand in front of his friend's face. "Hello? Earth to Wu Suowei? Did the Big Bad Wolf scare you into a coma?"

Wu Suowei blinked. A slow, ambitious, and slightly reckless smile spread across his face. He tapped the card against his chin, his eyes gleaming with a mix of adrenaline and calculation.

"Xiaoshuai," Wu Suowei said, a grin breaking through. "I think I just found my biggest client."

"Client?" Xiaoshuai made a face of horror. "Did you see the way he looked at you? That wasn't a 'client' look, Da Wei. That was the look a python gives a rabbit before it decides to keep it as a pet."

Wu Suowei laughed, a bright sound that cut through the tension. He tucked the card into his shirt pocket, right over his heart.

"Same thing," Wu Suowei said. "Come on. You owe me lunch. And maybe a new suit for Monday."

Chapter Text

Ten minutes later, they were seated in a bustling hotpot restaurant on the mall's third floor. The air was thick with the scent of chilies, star anise, and boiling beef fat. The steam from the spicy broth curled into the air, creating a humid, chaotic atmosphere, but Jiang Xiaoshuai looked like he was the one boiling.

"You have no idea," Jiang Xiaoshuai hissed, stabbing a beef ball with his chopstick as if it were a personal enemy. "You think because he handed you a card and smiled—well, almost smiled—that he's a nice guy? Da Wei, the man is not a human being. He is a shark. No, a snake. A giant, venomous python wrapped in an Italian suit."

Wu Suowei calmly dipped a slice of lotus root into his sesame sauce. His hands were steady, but inside, his mind was racing, calculating numbers that made his head spin.

"He’s a potential client, Xiaoshuai," Wu Suowei  said, his voice measured. "A very wealthy potential client. Do you know how much volume Chi Holdings moves in a month? If I get even five percent of his overflow, my company survives. I don't need him to be nice. I need him to be profitable."

"He eats the traders for breakfast," Jiang Xiaoshuai warned, his eyes wide and pleading. "Last month, a supplier tried to short him on a pallet of electronics. Do you know what happened?"

"He sued them?"

"He bought their debt, foreclosed on their warehouse, and turned it into a parking lot for his employees. In three days." Jiang Xiaoshuai shuddered, a visible tremor running through his shoulders. "And don't get me started on the snakes. He keeps them in his office. Actual, living reptiles."

Wu Suowei paused, the lotus root hovering halfway to his mouth. "Snakes?"

"Yes. Big ones. If you bore him during the meeting, he might just feed you to 'Greenie'."

Wu Suowei chewed thoughtfully. Most people would be terrified. Wu Suowei, however, just did the mental math. A man who kept snakes was eccentric, dominant, and likely bored by standard corporate boot-licking. It meant standard rules didn't apply.

"I'm not going to bore him," Wu Suowei said, a confident, slightly reckless glint entering his eye. "And I'm not afraid of snakes. I'm afraid of being broke. I'm afraid of losing everything I've built. And right now, Chi Cheng is the cure for that fear."

Jiang Xiaoshuai sighed, slumping back in his chair, defeated by his friend's stubbornness. "Just… be careful. Don't try to scam him. Don't try to outsmart him. And for the love of god, don't mention that you're friends with me, or he might think you're an idiot by association."

Wu Suowei grinned, stealing a piece of beef from Jiang Xiaoshuai’s bowl. "Relax. I've got this."

—

Monday morning arrived with a sky the color of bruised steel, threatening rain that refused to fall.

Wu Suowei stood on the sidewalk, craning his neck back to look up at the Chi Holdings headquarters. It was a monolith of glass and black steel, piercing the Beijing skyline like a dark needle. It screamed money, power, and cold intimidation.

Wu Suowei checked his reflection in the glass doors. He had chosen his best suit—a sharp, navy blue number that fit his lean frame perfectly, emphasizing his waist and the line of his shoulders. His hair was styled back, revealing his forehead, giving him a look that was professional but aggressive. He carried his leather portfolio like a shield.

It’s just a meeting, he told himself, though his stomach churned with acid. He’s just a man. A man who likes kids, uhm, well, maybe it limits to his nephew, and has a soft spot for free babysitting.

He pushed through the revolving doors.

The lobby was silent and freezing cold. The air conditioning was set to a temperature that suggested the CEO was indeed cold-blooded. The floor was polished marble, so clean, Wu Suowei felt guilty walking on it.

He approached the reception desk, where a woman with a headset looked up with practiced indifference.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Chi," Wu Suowei said, placing the black-and-gold business card on the counter.

The receptionist’s indifference vanished the second she saw the card. It was the CEO's personal card. She typed something rapidly into her computer, her posture straightening as if an electric current had hit her.

"Mr. Wu Suowei ?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Chi is expecting you," she said, her voice dropping to a respectful, almost fearful hush. "Top floor. Private elevator on the far right. No badge needed, he’s unlocked the access for you."

Wu Suowei took the card back. "Thank you."

He walked to the elevator banks. The regular employees were crowding into the main lifts, clutching coffees and looking tired. Wu Suowei stepped alone into the private elevator. It was lined with mirrors and smelled of lemon polish and money.

He pressed the button for the top floor.

As the elevator rose, Wu Suowei's ears popped. He took a deep breath, smoothing his tie, trying to slow his heart rate. The numbers on the display climbed higher and higher—20… 30… 40…

Ding.

The doors slid open.

There was no hallway. The elevator opened directly into a massive reception area that looked more like a living room in a luxury penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, reducing the millions of people below to ants.

And there, standing by the window with his back to the elevator, was Chi Cheng.

He wasn't wearing a suit jacket. He was in a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms corded with veins. He was feeding something in a large glass terrarium.

"You're punctual," Chi Cheng’s deep voice rumbled across the room. He didn't turn around, yet his presence filled the space. "I like that.”

Wu Suowei  stepped out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut silently behind him. "Time is money, Mr. Chi. I assume you didn't ask me here to waste yours."

Chi Cheng turned his head slightly, a small, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. He gestured with a single finger toward the glass tank in front of him. "Come here."

It was a test. Wu Suowei knew it was a test. Jiang Xiaoshuai’s warning about ‘snakes’ rang in his ears, but Wu Suowei tightened his grip on his portfolio and walked steadily across the room. He didn't falter. He stood right next to Chi Cheng and looked down into the terrarium.

He expected a monster. He expected something hissing and coiled to strike.

Instead, resting on a heated rock, was a relatively small ball python. It was beautiful—an albino, its scales a shimmering gradient of cream and pale yellow that looked like spun gold under the heat lamp. But what drew the eye was a singular, distinct mark on the top of its head, a smudge of ink-black scales that stood out starkly against the pale background, looking almost like a crown.

"It’s… small," Wu Suowei said, surprised.

"She’s young," Chi Cheng corrected softly. He reached into the tank. Wu Suowei watched, mesmerized, as the powerful CEO gently stroked the snake’s spine. The snake didn't recoil, it leaned into the touch. "And she’s rare. That black mark on an albino… it’s a genetic anomaly. One in a million."

Chi Cheng turned his gaze from the snake to Wu Suowei . His eyes were dark, heavy with a meaning Wu Suowei couldn't quite discern.

"Most people see a snake and back away, regardless of the size," Chi Cheng said. "Manager Jiang, for instance, won't step within ten feet of this glass."

"Xiaoshuai is afraid of his own shadow sometimes," Wu Suowei said dryly. He looked at the snake again. "She seems calm."

"She is. Until she's hungry."

Chi Cheng withdrew his hand and finally turned his full body toward Wu Suowei. He leaned back against the glass enclosure, crossing his arms. The movement made the muscles in his forearms flex, drawing Wu Suowei's eye against his will.

"So, Wu Suowei. You didn't flinch at the snake. You handled my nephew without panic. You clearly have nerves of steel."

Chi Cheng’s eyes swept over Wu Suowei's suit, lingering appreciatively on the fit of the jacket, stripping away the layers with a look. "You clean up well," Chi Cheng added, his voice dropping a decibel, vibrating in Wu Suowei's chest. "Much better than the frantic uncle look at the mall."

Wu Suowei felt a heat rise up his neck, a blush he couldn't control, but he held his ground. "I dress for the job I want, Mr. Chi. And right now, I want the job of moving your surplus inventory."

Chi Cheng laughed, a low, genuine sound that surprised them both. He walked over to his massive mahogany desk and sat down, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

"Ruthless and direct. Good. Sit down," Chi Cheng commanded. "Sell me your company. You have five minutes before I get bored.”

Wu Suowei sat, opening his portfolio, ready to pull out the spreadsheets he had spent the entire weekend perfecting.

"Wait."

Chi Cheng stood up and walked back to the terrarium. He reached in again, but this time, he didn't just pet the snake. He lifted her out. The albino python coiled around his wrist, her tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Chi Cheng walked back to the desk and, with a casual elegance that made Wu Suowei's breath hitch, placed the snake gently onto the polished mahogany surface between them.

"She likes to explore," Chi Cheng said, sitting back down and steepling his fingers. "Proceed."

Wu Suowei stared at the reptile. The snake—began to slither slowly across the desk, heading straight for Wu Suowei's leather portfolio.

Don't flinch, Wu Suowei told himself. It’s just a harmless ball python. It’s not a cobra. 

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes up to meet Chi Cheng’s amusement.

"Right," Wu Suowei started, his voice steady. "Chi Holdings is currently suffering from a bottleneck in your Tier-2 distribution centers. I’ve analyzed your quarterly reports. You’re moving volume, but your customs clearance for the Southeast Asian routes is lagging by an average of three days."

"Three days is within the margin of error," Chi Cheng dismissed, though his eyes were sharp.

"Not when you're dealing with perishable tech components," Wu Suowei countered immediately. "My company, Wu Trading, has pre-cleared access to three bonded warehouses in the Guangzhou free trade zone. We can cut your transit time by twenty percent simply by rerouting your overflow through our existing channels."

The snake reached Wu Suowei's side of the desk. She nudged her nose against his pen.

Chi Cheng watched Wu Suowei, not the data. "Twenty percent is a bold claim."

"It's a mathematical certainty," Wu Suowei said, reaching out to flip a page in his portfolio. He had to lift his arm carefully to avoid bumping the snake, who was now investigating the cuff of his suit jacket. "If you look at the figures on page four—"

"Do you live alone?"

Wu Suowei blinked, his rhythm broken. "Excuse me?"

"Do you live alone?" Chi Cheng repeated, leaning forward. His eyes were dark, scanning Wu Suowei's face as if looking for a lie. "Or do you have a partner waiting at home?"

"I don't see how that is relevant to the customs clearance protocols," Wu Suowei said, his grip tightening on his pen. The snake was now slithering over his wrist, her scales cool and dry against his skin. It took every ounce of his willpower not to jerk his hand back.

"It's relevant to my risk assessment," Chi Cheng lied smoothly, enjoying the show. "I need to know if my business partner have… distractions."

Wu Suowei held Chi Cheng’s gaze, refusing to look down at the reptile currently using his arm as a bridge.

"I live alone," Wu Suowei answered, his voice dropping to match Chi Cheng’s tone. "I have no partner. My only focus is my business. And right now, my business is fixing your logistics problem."

The snake paused, resting her head on the back of Wu Suowei's hand, enjoying the warmth.

"Single. Focused. And brave," Chi Cheng murmured. He looked at where the snake was resting. "She usually shies away from strangers. She seems to like your body heat."

The double meaning hung in the air, heavy, electric, and suffocating.

Wu Suowei gently, slowly, moved his hand to continue pointing at the spreadsheet, carrying the snake with him. "As I was saying, Mr. Chi. The bonded warehouses allow us to bypass the standard queue. The cost savings in the first quarter alone would cover my commission fee."

Chi Cheng didn't look at the spreadsheet. He looked at Wu Suowei's hand, steady beneath the weight of the python, and then up to Wu Suowei's determined eyes.

He had expected the trading company owner to be a bore. Or a coward. But this man—who could talk about profit margins while an albino python wrapped around his wrist, and who looked him in the eye and declared he was single—was something else entirely.

Chi Cheng smiled. It wasn't his usual polite, shark-like smile. It was the smile of a predator who had found a worthy chase.

"Your pitch is technical and dry," Chi Cheng said, standing up.

Wu Suowei's heart sank. "Mr. Chi, I—"

"But your resolve is excellent."

Chi Cheng walked around the desk. He stopped right next to Wu Suowei's chair. He reached down, not to take the portfolio, but to gently uncoil the snake from Wu Suowei's wrist.

His warm fingers brushed against Wu Suowei's skin, sending a jolt of electricity through Wu Suowei that the snake never could.

"I'll give you a trial run," Chi Cheng whispered near Wu Suowei's ear, once again, the scent of his, is overwhelming Wu Suowei's senses. "One shipment. If you hit that twenty percent target… you get the annual contract."

Chi Cheng lifted the snake away, straightening up.

"And," Chi Cheng added, his eyes gleaming, "you can buy me dinner to celebrate. Since you live alone and have no distractions.”

"Deal," Wu Suowei managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady given that his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He stood up to seal the agreement. But as he put weight on his legs, the adrenaline that had been sustaining him through the snake encounter and the high-stakes negotiation suddenly crashed. His knees turned to water.

Wu Suowei stumbled, his shoulder dipping forward. He never hit the floor.

Chi Cheng’s hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping Wu Suowei firmly by the elbow, steadying him effortlessly. The grip was iron-strong, burning through the fabric of Wu Suowei's suit jacket. For a moment, they were chest-to-chest, Chi Cheng’s height forcing Wu Suowei to tilt his head back.

"Careful, Mr. Wu," Chi Cheng murmured, a dangerous amusement dancing in his eyes. He didn't let go. "The adrenaline dump can be nasty. I’d hate for my new partner to faint before he even signs the NDA."

"I didn't trip," Wu Suowei lied through his teeth, regaining his balance but unable to break Chi Cheng’s hold. "I was just… adjusting my stance."

"Mmm. Of course."

Chi Cheng finally released him, but the ghost of his touch lingered. He turned and picked up a thick, red folder from the corner of his desk. He weighed it in his hand for a moment before slapping it against Wu Suowei's chest.

"Here is your trial."

Wu Suowei clutched the folder. "What is it?"

"We call it the 'Ghost Shipment'," Chi Cheng said, his tone shifting from flirtatious to cold business. "Five containers of high-precision medical lenses sitting in Tianjin Port. They’ve been stuck in customs purgatory for three weeks due to a paperwork error by the previous dealer. The client is threatening to pull a ten-million-yuan contract if they don't arrive by Wednesday."

Wu Suowei's eyes widened. "Wednesday? That’s forty-eight hours. Clearing a three-week hold in two days is impossible."

"Impossible for the incompetent," Chi Cheng corrected smoothly. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "You said you specialize in hard-to-move goods. You said you have special channels. Prove it."

He smirked. "If you get those lenses to my warehouse by Wednesday at midnight, the annual contract is yours. If you fail… well, I enjoyed the conversation. I don't hire failures… Hmm… But I could make an exception…"

Wu Suowei looked at the red folder, then up at the man standing before him. It was a suicide mission. Chi Cheng was setting him up to fail—or testing to see if he was a miracle worker.

"Wednesday at midnight," Wu Suowei repeated, his jaw setting. "Have your warehouse manager ready to receive them."

"I'll be waiting," Chi Cheng said softly. "Get going, Wu Suowei. The clock is ticking."

Wu Suowei turned and walked to the private elevator. He forced his back to remain straight, his gait confident, feeling Chi Cheng’s eyes boring into his spine every step of the way.

He stepped inside. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing Wu Suowei  into the mirrored box. The silence was absolute.

3… 2… 1…

As the lift began its descent, the mask of the confident CEO shattered. Wu Suowei  dropped his leather portfolio and slumped back against the metal wall, sliding down until he was crouching on the floor. He buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, ragged breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. His legs felt like jelly.

"Holy shit," he whispered to the empty air. His heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking so badly, he almost dropped it twice before dialing.

"Hello?" Jiang Xiaoshuai’s anxious voice answered on the first ring. "Da Wei? Are you alive? Did he feed you to the python? If you're dead, blink twice."

"I got the job," Wu Suowei choked out, loosening his tie frantically as he gasped for air.

"You what?!"

"I got the trial run," Wu Suowei repeated, staring at the red folder lying on the floor next to him as if it were a bomb. "Pick me up at the side entrance. Now."

Ten minutes later, Wu Suowei threw himself into the passenger seat of Jiang Xiaoshuai’s beat-up sedan. He tossed the red folder onto the dashboard.

"Drive," Wu Suowei commanded, closing his eyes.

"Drive where?" Jiang Xiaoshuai asked, putting the car in gear. "Celebratory hotpot?"

"Tianjin," Wu Suowei groaned. "He gave me the Ghost Shipment, Xiaoshuai. The medical lenses stuck in customs. I have until Wednesday midnight."

Jiang Xiaoshuai slammed on the brakes before they even left the parking lot. "The Ghost Shipment? Suowei, that’s suicide! Everyone knows about that batch. It’s cursed. The paperwork is a black hole!"

Before Wu Suowei could argue, Jiang Xiaoshuai’s phone buzzed violently against the center console.

Jiang Xiaoshuai glanced at the screen. His face drained of all color. "It's Him."

He tapped the speakerphone with a trembling finger. "H-Hello? Boss?"

Chi Cheng’s deep, baritone voice filled the small car, sounding amused and terrifyingly calm. "Manager Jiang. Where are you?"

"I... uh... I took an early lunch, sir," Jiang Xiaoshuai stammered.

"Good. You'll need the energy," Chi Cheng said smoothly. "I'm reassigning you. Effective immediately, you are the acting Warehouse Manager for the North District loading dock."

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s jaw dropped. He looked at Wu Suowei in horror. "Warehouse Manager? But sir, I work in Administration. I don't know how to run a loading dock!"

"You'll learn," Chi Cheng replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have a broker bringing in a priority shipment on Wednesday night. I require someone I trust to verify the intake. Since you recommended him, you can process him."

Jiang Xiaoshuai swallowed hard. "Sir… about that broker."

"Yes?"

Jiang Xiaoshuai looked at Wu Suowei, who was signaling him to just admit it.

"I'm actually… with him right now, sir," Jiang Xiaoshuai confessed, his voice small. "I'm driving him to Tianjin to get the cargo."

There was a pause on the other end. A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the speaker.

"Is that so?" Chi Cheng sounded delighted. "Two birds with one stone. Make sure he doesn't fall asleep at the wheel, Manager Jiang. I expect my goods at midnight."

Click. The line went dead.

Jiang Xiaoshuai stared at the phone. "He knew," he whispered. "He knew we were together. He planned this."

Wu Suowei opened his eyes, a sharp, competitive glint returning to them. "Then let's not disappoint him. Step on it."

—

The highway to Tianjin was a blur of gray asphalt and relentless rain. The wipers on the sedan slashed back and forth, unable to keep up with the downpour.

Inside the car, the air was thick with tension and the smell of stale coffee.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Jiang Xiaoshuai muttered for the tenth time, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "I am supposed to be in an air-conditioned office making spreadsheets. Instead, I am acting as a getaway driver for a corporate suicide mission."

Wu Suowei ignored him. He had the dashboard light on, the red "Ghost Shipment" file spread open on his lap. He was scanning the customs declarations with the intensity of a forensic scientist, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Stop whining and drive faster," Wu Suowei murmured, flipping a page. "I found the anomaly."

"The anomaly is that we are idiots," Jiang Xiaoshuai shot back.

"No," Wu Suowei tapped a document with his pen. "Look at the timestamp. This shipment was flagged for a 'Safety Inspection' three weeks ago. But look at the log—the inspector never showed up. Not once."

Jiang Xiaoshuai glanced over, confused. "Maybe they were busy?"

"For three weeks?" Wu Suowei scoffed. "And look at the container adjacent to ours. Same product type, different company. Cleared in two days."

Wu Suowei looked up, his eyes cold and sharp in the dim light.

"This isn't bureaucracy, Xiaoshuai. This is sabotage. Someone paid the port authority to lose Chi Cheng's containers. A rival logistics firm is trying to squeeze him out of the medical supply sector by ruining his reputation."

Jiang Xiaoshuai paled. "So we're not just fighting time? We're fighting a rival company?"

"We aren't fighting anyone," Wu Suowei said, closing the folder with a snap. He loosened his tie, a wolfish, predatory grin spreading across his face—the look of a man who finally saw the board clearly. 

"We’re just going to make the port authority an offer they can't refuse. They think they're dealing with a corporate giant they can stall. They don't know they're dealing with me."

—

Tuesday, 2:00 AM.

The Tianjin Port customs office was a grime-streaked portable building sitting in the shadow of towering shipping container stacks. The air smelled of salt, diesel fumes, and rotting fish.

Wu Suowei didn't look like a CEO anymore. He had rolled up his sleeves, his hair was windswept, and there was a smear of grease on his cheek from when they had inspected the container seals themselves in the pouring rain.

He sat across from Officer Wang, a man with a thick neck, a stained uniform, and eyes that darted nervously toward the door.

"Mr. Wu, as I said," Wang sweated, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "The schedule is full. We cannot release the containers until the safety inspector returns next week. It is protocol."

"Next week isn't going to work for me, Officer Wang," Wu Suowei said softly.

He didn't yell. He didn't slam the table. He simply leaned forward, the overhead fluorescent light casting sharp shadows on his face, making him look dangerous. He placed a pack of extremely expensive cigarettes on the table, followed by a lighter.

"I know the Rivalry Group paid you to keep those containers grounded,"

Wang stiffened, his eyes bulging. "I… I don't know what you're talking about. That is a serious accusation!"

"These are medical grade lenses," Wu Suowei lied smoothly, locking eyes with the man. "They are time-sensitive. The thermal coating degrades after twenty-one days. That creates a problem."

He paused, lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke drift between them.

"If ten million yuan worth of medical equipment is destroyed because of a 'scheduling error'," Wu Suowei whispered, "Chi Holdings won't just sue the port. They will personally ensure that the Ministry of Health launches a corruption investigation into why critical medical supplies were held hostage."

Wu Suowei leaned in closer. "And when the government audits your personal bank accounts, Officer Wang… do you think the Group will protect you? Or will they let you rot in prison?"

Wang’s face went gray. The name 'Chi Holdings' was a heavy hammer, but the threat of a government audit was a guillotine.

Wu Suowei stood up, buttoning his jacket. "Release the containers. Now. And I’ll forget I ever saw the discrepancy in the logs."

Wang looked at the cigarettes, then at Wu Suowei's hard eyes. His hand shook as he reached for his radio.

"Gate 4," Wang croaked into the receiver. "Release the Chi Holdings shipment. Immediate transport."

—

Chi Holdings Main Warehouse, Beijing. Wednesday, 11:58 PM.

The storm had turned into a deluge. Rain came down in blinding sheets, drumming relentlessly against the corrugated metal roof of the massive warehouse loading dock. Thunder rattled the windows.

Wu Suowei was in the lead truck of the convoy. The rain was blinding. The wind shook the heavy cab of the truck. The driver wanted to pull over.

"Keep driving!" Wu Suowei yelled over the roar of the engine, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "If we stop, we lose!"

He wasn't just fighting for money anymore. He was fighting for that look in Chi Cheng’s eyes. He wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off the man's face and replace it with respect.

Chi Cheng stood on the loading platform, sheltered from the rain by the overhang. He was dressed impeccably in black, looking like a statue carved from obsidian, checking his watch with maddening calmness.

Next to him, Jiang Xiaoshuai was pacing back and forth, hyperventilating. He was wearing a high-vis vest over his office clothes, holding a clipboard against his chest like a shield.

"It's 11:58, Manager Jiang," Chi Cheng said, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. "Your friend is cutting it close."

"He'll be here," Jiang Xiaoshuai squeaked, though he looked ready to faint. "He… he drives fast."

"Traffic is deadlocked on the G1 Expressway due to the storm," Chi Cheng noted, staring out into the pitch-black yard. "If the trucks aren't docked by midnight, the contract is void. And you, Manager Jiang, will be demoted to cleaning the reptile tanks."

Jiang Xiaoshuai bit his lip so hard it almost bled. Come on, Da Wei.

11:59 PM.

"Time's up," Chi Cheng sighed, adjusting his cuff link. "Well. It seems—"

HONK.

A deafening air horn blasted from the darkness, shaking the ground.

Chi Cheng and Jiang Xiaoshuai looked up. Two massive headlights pierced the rain like dragon eyes. Then two more. Then two more.

A convoy of five heavy-duty transport trucks roared into the warehouse lot, moving dangerously fast. They didn't slow down until the last second, air brakes hissing violently as they drifted into position, backing up to the bays with military precision.

The lead truck’s door swung open.

Wu Suowei jumped down from the high cab.

He didn't have an umbrella. He walked through the pouring rain toward the loading dock, his expensive suit soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked exhausted, dirty, and utterly triumphant.

He climbed the metal stairs to the platform, water streaming off him in rivers, and stopped directly in front of Chi Cheng.

The digital clock on the warehouse wall clicked to 12:00 AM.

Wu Suowei reached into his wet jacket, pulled out the stamped release forms—now damp and wrinkled—and slapped them onto Jiang Xiaoshuai's clipboard with a wet thwack.

"Manager Jiang," Wu Suowei panted, his chest heaving, his voice raspy from shouting at truck drivers for six hours. "Sign for the intake. Five containers. Medical lenses. Intact."

Jiang Xiaoshuai stared at him, eyes wide with hero worship. He quickly scribbled his signature, his hands shaking. "R-Received! Time: 12:00 AM on the dot!"

Wu Suowei turned to Chi Cheng. He wiped rainwater from his eyes, tilting his chin up defiantly.

"Wednesday. Before midnight," Wu Suowei rasped. "Where do I sign the contract?"

Chi Cheng stared at him.

He looked at the idling trucks. He looked at the stamped forms. And then he looked at Wu Suowei. The man was shivering, his lips were pale, and his suit was ruined, but Chi Cheng had never seen anything more attractive in his life. The sheer competence, the grit, the refusal to yield—it was intoxicating.

Chi Cheng didn't step back to avoid the wet man. He stepped closer, invading Wu Suowei's personal space.

"Manager Jiang," Chi Cheng said, his eyes never leaving Wu Suowei's face. "Get the crew to unload these trucks. And then get out."

"Yes, Boss!" Jiang Xiaoshuai yelped, practically throwing the clipboard at a foreman before scuttling away, happy to escape the suffocating sexual tension.

Left alone on the platform, Chi Cheng reached out. His warm thumb brushed a droplet of cold rain from Wu Suowei's cheek. The touch sent a jolt of heat through Wu Suowei that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"You look terrible," Chi Cheng murmured, his voice low and intimate, a stark contrast to the storm around them.

"I delivered," Wu Suowei countered, his breath hitching slightly under the touch.

"You did," Chi Cheng agreed. He moved his hand from Wu Suowei's cheek to the back of his neck, his grip possessive, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer. "Go dry off. My office, tomorrow morning. We have a contract to sign."

Chi Cheng leaned down, his lips brushing the wet shell of Wu Suowei’s ear, his voice a dark rumble.

"And don't forget, Mr. Wu. You owe me dinner."

Chapter Text

Wu Suowei opened his mouth to retort—perhaps to say that Chi Cheng should be the one buying dinner since he had just performed a logistic miracle—but the words never made it past his throat.

The adrenaline that had fueled him for the last forty-eight hours—through the manic drive to Tianjin, the screaming match at the port authority, and the white-knuckle race back against the typhoon—suddenly evaporated. It was as if someone had simply reached inside him and pulled the plug.

In its place, a wave of exhaustion hit him like a physical blow, heavy and crushing. The cold rain, which he had ignored for hours, suddenly seemed to seep through his skin and into his marrow, freezing his blood. His vision blurred, the dark loading dock swaying violently to the left like a ship in a storm.

"I…" Wu Suowei managed to breathe out, the sound weak and fractured.

His knees simply ceased to exist.

He didn't stumble, he crumpled. The tension left his muscles, and he fell forward like a puppet with its strings cut, gravity claiming him instantly.

"Da Wei!" Jiang Xiaoshuai screamed from the background, his voice cracking with terror.

But Wu Suowei never hit the wet concrete.

Chi Cheng moved faster than seemed possible for a man of his size. The predatory stillness vanished, replaced by explosive, reactive speed. His hand, which had been hovering near Wu Suowei’s neck, tightened instantly into a vise-like grip, and his other arm swept down in a blur, catching Wu Suowei around the waist before he could fall more than a few inches.

The impact was solid. Wu Suowei’s head lolled forward, resting heavily against Chi Cheng’s chest. He was shaking violently, his teeth chattering with a sound that rattled in the quiet spaces between the rain. His skin was deathly pale, translucent against the dark, soaked fabric of his ruined suit.

"Wu Suowei?"

Chi Cheng’s voice was no longer smooth or teasing. It was sharp, alarmed, stripped of all pretense. He gave Wu Suowei a slight, urgent shake. "Hey. Look at me."

Wu Suowei’s eyelids fluttered, showing only the whites for a second before rolling back. All he could feel was the suffocating cold of the storm and the incredible, solid warmth of the man holding him up. The scent of tobacco and sandalwood was the last thing anchoring him to reality.

"Tired…" he mumbled, the word slurring into a groan. His consciousness was slipping away like water down a drain, dark and inviting.

Chi Cheng cursed under his breath, a harsh sound. He shifted his stance, realizing the younger man was completely dead weight. He didn't bother trying to wake him further. He bent his knees and scooped Wu Suowei up into his arms, lifting him effortlessly as if he weighed nothing more than the snakes in his office.

Wu Suowei’s head fell back against Chi Cheng’s shoulder, his wet hair dripping onto Chi Cheng’s expensive shirt. He looked small, fragile, and dangerously cold.

"Boss!" Xiaoshuai came skidding across the wet platform, splashing water everywhere, his face a mask of absolute panic. He reached out but was afraid to touch. "Is he—did he have a heart attack? Oh god, I told him! I told him the stress would kill him! He didn't sleep, he didn't eat—"

"He's hypothermic and exhausted," Chi Cheng barked, cutting through the hysteria. He clutched Wu Suowei’s shivering body tighter against his own dry coat, trying to transfer his body heat into the soaked man. "Open my car door. Now!"

Xiaoshuai scrambled down the metal stairs, slipping on the wet grate and nearly face-planting, before rushing toward the black luxury sedan parked near the ramp. He yanked the back door open with trembling hands.

Chi Cheng strode through the rain, ignoring the water ruining his Italian leather shoes. He reached the car and leaned in, gently—almost reverently—depositing Wu Suowei onto the plush leather backseat.

Wu Suowei groaned softly as he was laid down. He immediately curled into a ball, his knees drawn to his chest, instinctively seeking heat.

Chi Cheng didn't step back immediately. He stared at the shivering form for a second, his jaw clenched. Then, without hesitation, he stripped off his own suit jacket. He leaned into the car and draped the heavy, warm wool over Wu Suowei’s trembling shoulders, tucking it around him like a cocoon.

He pressed the back of his hand against Wu Suowei’s forehead. It was freezing, clammy dampness that made Chi Cheng frown deeply.

He straightened up and slammed the door shut, sealing Wu Suowei inside the warm, dry interior. Chi Cheng turned to Jiang Xiaoshuai, who was standing in the rain, looking like a lost, wet puppy.

"Manage the unload," Chi Cheng commanded, his voice switching back to the cold, efficient CEO. His eyes were dark and intense, brooking no argument. "Check every serial number. If a single lens is damaged, I want to know immediately."

"Yes, sir! But—but Da Wei…" Xiaoshuai pointed a shaking finger at the car. "Should we call an ambulance? Or... or I can drive him? I have my car—"

"I'm taking him," Chi Cheng stated, walking around to the driver's side. "He doesn't need a hospital waiting room filled with sick people. He needs warmth, silence, and rest."

"Taking him where?" Xiaoshuai asked, dumbfounded, rain dripping off his nose. "To his apartment? Do you even know where he lives? I can send you the address—"

Chi Cheng opened the driver's door and paused. He looked back at his frantic employee over the roof of the car. The rain matted Chi Cheng’s dark hair, making him look wilder, more dangerous.

"No," Chi Cheng said simply. "To mine."

"Yours?" Xiaoshuai choked.

"He's my responsibility now," Chi Cheng said.

Before Jiang Xiaoshuai could process the implications of that statement, Chi Cheng slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life with a predator's growl. The tires spun on the wet pavement, and the black car peeled out of the loading dock, taillights flaring red before disappearing into the rainy night.

Jiang Xiaoshuai was left standing alone on the platform. He held a clipboard in the downpour, staring at the empty space where the car had been.

"B-Boss? Da Wei?"

He let his arms drop to his sides, looking around at the massive trucks and the confused dockworkers.

"Eh?"

He blinked, rainwater running into his eyes.

"Ehhhh?"

He looked at the gate, then back at the clipboard.

"What the fuck just happened?"

—

The ride to Chi Cheng’s penthouse was a blur of motion and aggressive heat. The car’s climate control was blasted to the maximum, but for Wu Suowei, the world had narrowed down to a single, consuming sensation: cold.

It wasn't just on his skin; it felt as if the rain had soaked through his pores and frozen his marrow. He was shivering so violently that his teeth clicked together in a rhythmic, painful staccato. He was vaguely aware of the car stopping, the splash of puddles, and then the sensation of being airborne again as strong arms lifted him.

There was the hum of a high-speed elevator, the smell of lemon polish and expensive cologne, and the feeling of rising rapidly, leaving the storm far below.

Then, there was light. Warm, golden, indirect light that didn't hurt his eyes.

"Put me... put me down," Wu Suowei mumbled, his voice a broken rasp. He tried to push against the solid chest he was pressed against. "I need... the contract... the papers are wet..."

"The contract can wait," Chi Cheng’s deep voice rumbled against his ear, vibrating through Wu Suowei’s chest. "If you die of pneumonia in my hallway, I can't sue you for breach of agreement. And I hate paperwork."

Chi Cheng carried him into a massive master bedroom. It was a space that perfectly reflected its owner: dark, minimalist, and expensive, smelling faintly of sandalwood and crisp linen. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the storm raging outside, reduced to silent streaks of water against the glass.

Chi Cheng kicked the heavy oak door shut and walked to the bed, depositing Wu Suowei onto the edge of the mattress.

"Sit," Chi Cheng commanded.

Wu Suowei tried. He really did. But the moment Chi Cheng released him, gravity turned hostile. He swayed, listing dangerously to the side like a sinking ship.

Chi Cheng caught him instantly, his hand warm and heavy on Wu Suowei’s shoulder.

"You're freezing," Chi Cheng noted, his voice tight. He pressed his palm against the side of Wu Suowei’s neck. The contrast was shocking—Chi Cheng’s hand felt like a branding iron against Wu Suowei’s icy skin. "We need to get these wet clothes off. Now."

Wu Suowei nodded sluggishly. "Tie..." he whispered.

He tried to reach for the knot of his tie, but his hands were blue-tinged and numb. His fingers felt like sausages, useless and clumsy. He fumbled at the wet silk, unable to find the loop, frustration rising in his chest. He was a CEO. He was a competent man. Why couldn't he undo a simple tie?

Chi Cheng watched him struggle for three seconds, his jaw clenching. Then he sighed—a sound of impatience mixed with something softer, something dangerously close to concern.

"Stop," Chi Cheng ordered. He batted Wu Suowei’s hands away. "You're useless like this. Let me."

Chi Cheng stepped between Wu Suowei’s spread knees. He worked with efficient, clinical speed, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. He undid the knot in one fluid motion, pulling the sodden silk from Wu Suowei’s neck and tossing it onto the floor with a wet plat.

Then came the shirt.

Chi Cheng’s fingers moved down the row of buttons. The wet fabric clung to Wu Suowei’s skin like a second layer, translucent and cold. Chi Cheng peeled it away, the sound of the wet cloth separating from skin loud in the quiet room.

As the shirt fell away, the air conditioning hit Wu Suowei’s bare chest, sending a fresh wave of tremors through him.

"Cold," Wu Suowei whimpered, involuntarily curling in on himself, wrapping his arms around his torso to preserve what little heat he had left.

"I know," Chi Cheng murmured, his voice dropping to a soothing rumble. He didn't step away. He grabbed a thick, down-filled duvet from the bed and immediately wrapped it around Wu Suowei’s shoulders.

Chi Cheng began to rub Wu Suowei’s arms vigorously through the blanket, generating friction, trying to force warmth back into the limbs.

"Breathe, Suowei," Chi Cheng instructed, his face inches from Wu Suowei’s. "You're safe. You're dry."

The next hour was a fever dream, a montage of sensations that didn't quite connect.

Wu Suowei drifted in and out of consciousness. He remembered the rough, comforting texture of a thick towel being rubbed over his hair, drying the rain. He remembered the feeling of warm, dry silk sliding against his skin as he was maneuvered, like a doll, into a set of black silk pajamas.

They were Chi Cheng’s pajamas. The shirt hung loose on Wu Suowei’s frame, the sleeves falling past his hands, engulfing him in the scent of the other man.

At one point, he woke up gasping, his heart hammering. He didn't recognize the ceiling. The shadows looked like looming threats.

"Xiaoshuai?" he called out, panic rising in his chest, sharp and jagged. "The shipment—the lenses—did they clear?"

A hand pressed firmly against the center of his chest, pushing him back down into the mountain of pillows. It wasn't a push of aggression; it was a grounding weight.

"The shipment is safe," Chi Cheng’s voice cut through the delirium, solid as rock. "The intake is complete. Manager Jiang is going home. Stop fighting."

Wu Suowei blinked, his eyes swimming as they tried to focus.

Chi Cheng was sitting on the edge of the bed, illuminated by the warm glow of a dim bedside lamp. He had discarded his own suit jacket. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie gone, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked tired, but alert.

He held a glass of water.

"Drink," Chi Cheng commanded, sliding a hand behind Wu Suowei’s neck to lift his head slightly.

Wu Suowei obeyed, too weak to argue. The cool water soothed his parched throat, chasing away the metallic taste of adrenaline. He drank greedily, some of it spilling down his chin. Chi Cheng wiped it away with his thumb, a gesture so intimate it made Wu Suowei’s breath hitch.

Wu Suowei looked up at the man looming over him. According to Xiaoshuai, this was the terrifying CEO who fed snakes to guests. This was the man who crushed companies for sport.

But in the soft light, looking down at Wu Suowei with dark, unreadable eyes, he didn't look like a shark. He looked like a dragon curled around a piece of gold he had just claimed. Possessive. Watchful.

"Why..." Wu Suowei slurred, his eyelids heavy as lead. "Why are you... doing this?"

Chi Cheng set the glass down. He looked at Wu Suowei—pale, drowning in the oversized black silk shirt, finally warm and safe in his bed.

"Because you owe me dinner," Chi Cheng whispered, brushing a stray lock of damp hair off Wu Suowei’s forehead, his fingers lingering on the skin. "And I don't like eating alone." Wu Suowei doesn't know if that was a lie or not.

He leaned down, his voice a whisper against the pillow.

"Sleep, Suowei. I’m not going anywhere."

That was the last thing Wu Suowei heard before the darkness claimed him again—not the cold darkness of the storm, but a warm, heavy darkness where nothing could hurt him.

—

When Wu Suowei floated back to consciousness, it wasn't a gradual waking. It was a collision with the light.

He opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the glare. The world was painfully, aggressively bright. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the dust motes dancing in the air into suspended flecks of gold.

He blinked, letting out a low, ragged groan as he tried to sit up. His body felt heavy, not with exhaustion, but with a strange, languid lethargy, like his limbs were stuffed with cotton. But the bone-deep, marrow-freezing chill that had consumed him in the warehouse was gone, replaced by a suffocatingly pleasant warmth.

He looked down at himself.

He was lying in a bed that was easily twice the size of his own mattress, buried under a duvet that likely cost more than his car. But what arrested his attention was his own body. He was wearing a pair of midnight-blue silk pajamas that definitely didn't belong to him. The fabric was cool and slippery against his skin. The sleeves hung past his fingertips, engulfing his hands, and the collar was loose, sliding scandalously off one shoulder to reveal his collarbone.

Where am I?

Panic spiked in his chest, sharp and sudden. He scrambled backward against the headboard. Then, the memories of the night before came rushing back like a flood dam breaking.

The screaming wind. The warehouse. The collapse. The strong arms catching him.

Chi Cheng.

Wu Suowei froze. The sound of a page turning cut through the silence.

He slowly turned his head to the side.

Chi Cheng was there.

He was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair near the window, bathed in the morning light. He had a tablet balanced on one knee and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

But this wasn't the Chi Cheng at the office. He wasn't the shark in the armor of a three-piece suit. He looked infuriatingly fresh—showered, shaved, his dark hair slightly damp. He was wearing a casual, charcoal-gray cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up and comfortable lounge pants. He looked less like a corporate overlord and more like a model in a high-end lifestyle catalogue.

As soon as the sheets rustled, Chi Cheng looked up. His eyes were clear, alert, and instantly locked onto Wu Suowei.

"You survived," Chi Cheng stated flatly, setting the coffee down on a coaster.

Wu Suowei cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. It came out raspy. He felt acutely aware of the oversized pajamas and the intimacy of the situation. "I... yes. How long was I out?"

"Twelve hours," Chi Cheng said. He stood up, his movement fluid and graceful, and walked toward the bed. "You had a fever. It spiked to 39 degrees around midnight. It broke at 4 AM."

He stopped at the bedside, towering over Wu Suowei. He didn't ask how Wu Suowei felt, he assessed him. His gaze started at Wu Suowei’s messy hair, traveled down his pale, sleep-flushed face, especially on his exposed collarbone and lingered on the midnight-blue silk that swallowed Wu Suowei’s leaner frame.

A slow, possessive satisfaction darkened Chi Cheng’s eyes.

"Those look better on you than they do on me," Chi Cheng commented, a smirk playing on his lips. "I might not ask for them back."

Wu Suowei flushed, the heat rising all the way to his ears. He pulled the duvet higher, trying to hide the expanse of skin the loose collar exposed. "Thank you for... helping me. You didn't have to bring me here. A hotel would have been fine."

"I wasn't going to leave my new business partner in a puddle in the warehouse," Chi Cheng said, dismissing the gratitude. "And I don't trust hotels to monitor fevers properly."

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up a piece of crisp, white paper.

It was the contract.

"While you were sleeping, I had Legal draw up the final agreement based on your performance," Chi Cheng said, handing it to him. "You hit the deadline. The 'Ghost Shipment' is cleared and inventory is currently being stocked. The annual logistics contract is yours."

Wu Suowei took the paper, his hands trembling slightly. It wasn't from the cold this time; it was relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. He scanned the numbers—the commission rates, the volume guarantees. It was everything he had wanted. It was enough money to save Wu Trading, to expand, to finally breathe.

"It's... it's all here," Wu Suowei breathed, a smile breaking through his exhaustion.

"But," Chi Cheng added, his voice dropping an octave.

He leaned down, placing one hand on the mattress right next to Wu Suowei’s hip, sinking into the soft bed and effectively trapping Wu Suowei against the headboard. The scent of coffee and Chi Cheng’s perfume washed over Wu Suowei, dizzying him.

"I added a clause," Chi Cheng murmured.

Wu Suowei looked up sharply, his business instincts flaring. "A clause? We agreed on the terms."

"Section 14, Paragraph C," Chi Cheng directed, his face inches from Wu Suowei’s.

Wu Suowei looked down at the bottom of the last page. There, in the standard bold font, was an exclusivity agreement. But underneath it, written in sharp, aggressive, slashing handwriting in black ink, was an addition:

Addendum: The Vendor (Wu Suowei) agrees to attend mandatory strategy dinners with the Client (Chi Cheng) on a weekly basis. Failure to attend will result in penalties.

Wu Suowei stared at the handwriting. It was dominant. Unapologetic.

Strategy dinner, my ass...

He looked up at Chi Cheng, who was watching him with dark, amused eyes that danced with a challenge.

"Strategy dinners?" Wu Suowei asked, raising an eyebrow, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Is that standard industry practice?"

"Logistics are complicated," Chi Cheng lied shamelessly, not moving an inch. "We have a lot to discuss. Market fluctuations. Supply chains. Wine pairings."

He reached out. His thumb brushed against Wu Suowei’s lower lip, tracing the curve of it. The touch was electric, startlingly intimate in the bright morning light. He let his thumb linger there, pressing slightly, as if marking his territory.

"Go shower," Chi Cheng commanded softly, his eyes dropping to Wu Suowei’s lips. "There are fresh clothes in the closet that should fit you. I'll have breakfast ready."

He pulled back, straightening up, but the heat of his presence remained.

"Don't take too long, Wu Suowei," Chi Cheng called over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. "We have a contract to sign... and a date to plan."

Wu Suowei nodded stiffly, his neck feeling like it was made of rusted gears. He clutched the contract to his chest like a shield, grabbed his phone from the nightstand where it had been charging. He walked toward the ensuite bathroom with as much dignity as a man drowning in oversized silk pajamas could muster.

"I'll... be right back," Wu Suowei managed to say, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

He stepped into the bathroom, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling black marble and brushed gold fixtures—a space larger and more expensive than his entire bedroom back home.

He closed the heavy door. He locked it. Then he checked the lock again, jiggling the handle to be absolutely sure.

Wu Suowei let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since he woke up. He leaned back against the cool wood of the door, his legs sliding out from under him slightly. His heart was hammering a frantic, irregular rhythm against his ribs, loud enough to echo in his ears.

Slowly, involuntarily, he brought his hand up. His fingers ghosted over his lower lip where Chi Cheng’s thumb had brushed it just seconds ago. The skin still tingled, a phantom heat that refused to fade.

What is wrong with me?

He scrambled to unlock his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen like he had forgotten his own passcode. He dialed the only person who wouldn't judge him (too much).

"Hello?" Jiang Xiaoshuai’s voice answered on the second ring, sounding groggy and muffled, like he was face-down in a pillow. "Da Wei? Are you okay? Did you escape? I've been waiting by the phone since—"

"Xiaoshuai," Wu Suowei interrupted, his voice a harsh, aggressive whisper. "Focus. I need you to answer a question. Immediately."

"You're alive!" Xiaoshuai sighed in relief, the rustle of sheets audible. "Okay, shoot. Is it about the contract? Did he try to stiff us on the percentages? I knew he would—"

"Am I straight?"

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

Wu Suowei stared at his own reflection in the massive, gold-rimmed mirror. His hair was messy, sticking up in tufts. His face was flushed a deep, betrayal-red. His eyes looked wild, like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.

"Xiaoshuai?"

"I'm here," Xiaoshuai’s voice came back, slow and dry. "I'm just processing. Are you calling me at 8:00 AM… to ask me if you are straight?"

"Yes! No! I don't know!" Wu Suowei pushed off the door and began pacing the length of the marble floor, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone. "He gave me the contract, Xiaoshuai. It’s perfect. It’s everything we wanted. But he added a clause!"

"What clause? Does he want your firstborn? A kidney?"

"He wants dinner!" Wu Suowei hissed, waving his free hand at the air. "He wrote a mandatory dating clause in the margins! And then… then he leaned in close, and he smelled like expensive coffee and sandalwood and sin, and he touched my lip, and my stomach did this... this weird flip thing. Like I was on a roller coaster dropping ten stories."

He stopped pacing, gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles turned white. He leaned into the mirror, inspecting his pupils.

"It never did that with Yue Yue," Wu Suowei confessed, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "I dated her for years, Xiaoshuai. I held her hand. But I never felt like I was going to hyperventilate just because she stood too close to me. I never felt like… like gravity shifted when she walked into a room."

"Oh my god," Xiaoshuai sighed, the sound of a man rubbing his temples audible over the line. "Da Wei. You are having a gay panic crisis. In the villain's lair."

"I am not having a crisis!" Wu Suowei argued, splashing cold water on his face with one hand, desperate to cool the heat in his cheeks. "I am a rational businessman analyzing a new, unexpected variable in a high-stakes negotiation!"

He stared at water dripping from his chin, his breathing ragged.

"But Xiaoshuai… it's impossible to feel this way, right?" Wu Suowei pleaded, his voice cracking with genuine confusion. 

"Isn't it too fast? We just met a few days ago! I thought he was a psychopath who was going to feed me to a snake. How can I possibly feel… attracted to him? It doesn't make logical sense. Emotions don't work like that. It takes time to build connection. This is just… it's just adrenaline, right? It has to be Stockholm Syndrome."

There was a pause on the line. When Xiaoshuai spoke again, the teasing tone was gone, replaced by a soft sincerity.

"Da Wei," Xiaoshuai said gently. "You can calculate shipping routes and profit margins all day. But you can't calculate this."

"But it's too fast," Wu Suowei insisted weakly.

"Well," Xiaoshuai sighed, a smile evident in his voice. "Nothing is impossible with love, Da Wei. Sometimes it takes ten years to realize you tolerate someone. And sometimes? Sometimes a guy hands you a tissue for a crying kid, or catches you when you fall in the rain, and it takes ten seconds. Lightning doesn't check your calendar before it strikes."

Wu Suowei froze.

Lightning. That's exactly what it felt like. A strike to the system.

Do I like him?

He thought about the way Chi Cheng had looked at the mall, holding Doudou. He thought about the way Chi Cheng had defended him against the snake, calling him brave. He thought about the warmth of Chi Cheng’s chest against his back in the storm, the way he had carried him, covered him, protected him.

He thought about the way Chi Cheng looked at him right now—like Wu Suowei was a puzzle he intended to solve, piece by piece.

"He's arrogant," Wu Suowei argued weakly to the mirror, fighting a losing battle. "He's terrifying. He keeps reptiles in his office."

"That's not a 'no'," Xiaoshuai pointed out ruthlessly.

Wu Suowei groaned, sliding down the bathroom wall until he was sitting on the floor, burying his face in his hands. The oversized silk sleeves pooled around his wrists.

"He's handsome," Wu Suowei mumbled into his palms, the admission dragged out of him like a confession. "He's so handsome it's annoying. And he saved me. And… I think I want to sign that stupid dating clause."

"Congratulations, you’re a goner, a lost case." Xiaoshuai said deadpan. "And you're doomed. Welcome to the club."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Big trouble," Xiaoshuai agreed cheerfully. "Now shower, put on whatever expensive clothes he bought you—because I know he bought you clothes—and go eat breakfast with your future husband. And for the love of money, Da Wei, sign the actual business contract first, you love-struck idiot."

Chapter Text

Wu Suowei hung up the phone, tossing it onto the marble counter with a clatter that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet, expensive bathroom.

He braced his hands against the edge of the sink, gripping the cold stone until his knuckles turned white. He stared at his reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror. The man staring back didn't look like the CEO of a rising trading company. He looked like a disaster. His hair was a bird's nest, his face was flushed a violent, betraying shade of crimson, and his pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris.

Gay panic, he thought bitterly, watching his own chest heave. I am a thirty-year-old business owner. I have negotiated with corrupt port authorities. I have stared down union leaders. And now I am having a panic attack because a man has a handsome face, has nice eyes, a warm car, and smells like expensive coffee.

He splashed water on his face again, but it did nothing to cool the fire under his skin.

This is ridiculous, he scolded himself. It's just biology. It's just… shock. I am not attracted to him. I am just… impressed by his, uhm, his—

Knock. Knock.

Two sharp, authoritative raps on the heavy wooden door made Wu Suowei jump a foot in the air. He stifled a yelp, spinning around to face the locked door as if it were a loaded weapon.

"Mr. Wu?"

Chi Cheng’s deep voice filtered through the wood. It wasn't the muffled voice of someone standing politely down the hall. He was right there. Leaning against the doorframe. The voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous, velvet amusement.

"You’ve been in there a long time," Chi Cheng continued, the words slow and deliberate. "Are you drowning? Or are you consulting your lawyer about my morality clause?"

Wu Suowei froze. His heart stopped beating for a full second, then restarted at double speed.

Oh god.

His eyes darted around the bathroom. It was a cavern of marble and tile. Hard surfaces. Echoing surfaces.

How much did he hear?

Wu Suowei replayed the last two minutes in his head. The frantic pacing. The hysterical questions about his sexuality. The confession about Chi Cheng smelling like ‘sin.’

Did he hear me screaming about his smell? Did he hear me ask Xiaoshuai if I was straight?

"I'm… showering!" Wu Suowei yelled back. His voice cracked disgracefully on the first syllable, pitching up like a teenager's. He cleared his throat violently, forcing his voice down into a deeper, more masculine register that he hoped sounded authoritative. "I'm showering! Just… give me ten minutes. I'm washing the… the fever off."

Silence from the other side.

Wu Suowei held his breath, praying Chi Cheng would just walk away. He stared at the brass door handle, willing it not to turn.

Then, Chi Cheng’s voice came again, closer this time, as if he had leaned his lips right against the seam of the door.

"Take your time," Chi Cheng replied. The amusement was no longer subtle; it was rich and undeniable. "Although, Wu Suowei… if you're asking your friend for advice on whether I'm worth the trouble…"

A pause. A heartbeat of pure torture.

"…the answer is yes."

Wu Suowei turned to stone.

He heard the soft, rhythmic thud of bare feet retreating down the hallway.

Wu Suowei stood paralyzed for a long moment. Then, his knees gave out. He slid down the cabinet until he was crouching on the floor, burying his burning face in his hands.

He heard.

He definitely heard.

He heard the part about the roller coaster.

Wu Suowei groaned into his palms, the sound muffled and tragic. "I can never leave this bathroom. I live here now. This is my home."

—

Wu Suowei turned the shower handle as far to the right as it would go.

The water didn't just fall, it hit him like a physical slap. The freezing spray knocked the breath out of him, shocking his system into a gasping, shivering alertness. He stood under the icy deluge for five full minutes, his teeth gritting together, forcing his heart rate to slow down, scrubbing the feverish heat of embarrassment from his skin. He imagined the cold water washing away the sound of Chi Cheng’s voice through the door, washing away the confusing warmth in his gut.

Reset, he told himself. Reboot. You are a cold, calculating machine.

When he finally stepped out of the glass shower enclosure, he was shivering violently but mentally lucid. He grabbed a plush towel from the heated rack and dried off with rough, aggressive strokes.

He remembered Chi Cheng’s specific instruction: "Fresh clothes in the closet."

Wu Suowei wrapped the towel around his waist and padded across the cold marble floor to the door on the far side of the bathroom. He pushed it open.

It wasn't a closet. It was a room.

It was a walk-in wardrobe larger than Wu Suowei’s office, lined with dark cedar shelves and soft lighting that flickered on automatically as he entered. Rows of bespoke suits hung like soldiers in formation. Shelves of shoes were displayed like museum artifacts.

In the center of the room stood a leather-topped island. And there, laid out clearly for him on the surface, was a small pile of clothing.

Wu Suowei walked over and picked them up. He had expected a crisp new dress shirt, perhaps a generic guest set kept for emergencies.

It was neither.

It was a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, thick and impossibly soft, and a pair of black drawstring lounge pants. They weren't new. The cashmere had the slight, comfortable give of a garment that had been worn and loved.

He hesitated, holding the fabric between his fingers. This was a boundary being crossed. Wearing a man's new clothes was a necessity, wearing a man's used clothes was a statement.

But he was freezing, and his suit was a ruined heap in the hamper.

With a sigh of resignation, he dropped the towel. He pulled the pants on, cinching the drawstring tight to keep them from falling off his hips. Then, he pulled the sweater over his head.

It was too big. Comically so. The shoulder seams slid halfway down his arms, and the sleeves extended inches past his fingertips, turning his hands into useless fabric paws. The hem hit him mid-thigh.

But the fit wasn't the problem.

The problem was the smell.

The moment the heavy cashmere settled over his head, the scent hit him—an intoxicating ambush. The fabric was infused with Chi Cheng’s personal scent. It wasn't the fresh cologne of the morning, it was the deeper, base note of the man himself. A rich, heady mix of expensive tobacco, warm sandalwood, and the sharp, clean smell of ozone and skin.

It surrounded Wu Suowei instantly. It didn't just sit on the surface, it wrapped around him like a physical embrace. It was suffocatingly intimate. It felt exactly like it had the night before—like Chi Cheng was standing right behind him, chest pressed against Suowei’s back, arms wrapped securely around him to ward off the cold.

Wu Suowei inhaled involuntarily, a traitorous gasp, and his knees went weak again. The scent triggered a visceral memory of safety and heat that made his toes curl against the carpeted floor of the closet.

No, he told himself firmly, shaking his head to dispel the fog. Focus. This isn't a hug. It's a tactic.

He walked back into the bathroom and gripped the edge of the marble sink, staring at the wool covering his arms.

He's marking his territory, Wu Suowei thought, his eyes narrowing at his reflection. He wants me to walk out there smelling like him. He wants me to feel small in his big clothes. It’s a psychological power play.

He looked small, soft, and thoroughly domesticated. He looked like a boyfriend padding around the kitchen on a Sunday morning after a long, sleepless night. He looked kept.

He hated it.

He glared at his reflection, summoning every ounce of his scrap-fighting spirit.

"I am not a trophy," Wu Suowei hissed at himself, baring his teeth slightly. "I am not a pet snake. I am a vendor. And vendors negotiate."

He aggressively rolled up the sleeves of the sweater, folding the thick wool over and over until his forearms and hands were visible. He pushed the fabric up to his elbows, reclaiming the use of his hands. He couldn't do much about the loose neckline, but he splashed cold water on his face one last time, slicking his damp hair back into a severe, sharp style.

He hardened his expression, replacing the soft, sleepy look with his best office mask—cool, detached, and unimpressed.

He picked up the contract from the counter. He held it not like a piece of paper, but like a weapon.

"Right," Wu Suowei whispered to the empty room. "Let's go eat his food and take his money."

Wu Suowei marched out of the bedroom, clutching the contract like a holy text, and followed the rich, grounding smell of coffee down the hallway.

The penthouse was silent except for the faint sizzle of a pan. He rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen—a space of sleek charcoal cabinets, brushed steel, and enough marble to build a small monument.

Chi Cheng was standing by the massive island stove. He was cooking eggs, holding a spatula with the same casual, dangerous competence he used to hold a venomous snake. He looked domesticated, yet entirely untamed.

When he heard the soft slap of bare feet on hardwood, he turned around.

The spatula stilled. Chi Cheng’s eyes swept over Wu Suowei. He took in the damp, slicked-back hair, the way the charcoal gray sweater slipped scandalously off one collarbone to reveal pale skin, and the black drawstring pants pooling slightly around his ankles.

Chi Cheng’s eyes darkened, the pupils blowing wide. A look of pure, possessive satisfaction crossed his face—the look of a man seeing his brand on a prize asset.

"You fit," Chi Cheng said simply. The words were heavy, implying far more than just sizing.

Wu Suowei ignored the compliment and the traitorous flutter in his stomach that tried to respond to that dark gaze. He summoned every ounce of his professional bravado. He walked straight up to the kitchen island, ignoring the way his heart hammered against his ribs, and slammed the contract down on the cold marble countertop next to a plate of perfectly buttered toast.

"I've reviewed the addendum," Wu Suowei announced, his voice steady, though his fingers were white-knuckled on the paper.

Chi Cheng raised an eyebrow, leaning his hip against the counter, looking amused. "And?"

"And I accept the dating clause," Wu Suowei said. He took a breath. "However, I have conditions."

Chi Cheng smirked. He crossed his arms over his chest, the spatula dangling loosely from his hand. "Conditions? You're in my house, wearing my clothes, eating my food, and you want to negotiate?"

"Business is business, Mr. Chi," Wu Suowei said, his eyes narrowing. He tapped the paper aggressively. "You want 'strategy dinners.' Strategy requires time. Time is money. I do not work for free."

Wu Suowei grabbed a pen lying on the counter—probably worth more than his car—and clicked it open. He leaned over the contract, the sweater slipping further down his shoulder, scribbling furiously next to Chi Cheng’s sharp handwriting.

"If I am agreeing to give you my personal time on a weekly basis," Wu Suowei said, looking up with a challenge burning in his eyes, "I expect compensation for the consultation hours. I want a 5% discount on the freight fees for every dinner I attend."

He straightened up, capping the pen with a sharp click that echoed in the kitchen.

"Take it or leave it."

Chi Cheng stared at him.

He looked at the ridiculous demand scrawled in the margin. Then he looked back at Wu Suowei—who was trembling slightly, drowning in a cashmere sweater three sizes too big, looking like a cornered kitten trying to roar like a lion.

Most people cowered before Chi Cheng. Most people tried to flatter him, or seduce him, or run away from him.

Wu Suowei tried to invoice him for dating.

Chi Cheng threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a polite chuckle, it was a loud, booming sound of genuine delight that startled Wu Suowei into taking a step back.

"Greedy," Chi Cheng murmured, the laughter fading into a wolfish grin.

He stepped closer, closing the distance instantly. He boxed Wu Suowei in against the counter, placing his large hands on the marble on either side of the contract, trapping Wu Suowei between his body and the stone island. He leaned down until their noses were almost touching.

Wu Suowei could smell the coffee on his breath. He held his ground, refusing to shrink away.

"5% is too high," Chi Cheng whispered, his eyes gleaming. "That would bankrupt my margins. I'll give you 2%. And I pick the restaurants."

Wu Suowei didn't back down, though his heart was hammering against the wool of the sweater so hard he was sure Chi Cheng could feel it. "4%. And I pick half the restaurants. You need to see how the other half eats. No white tablecloths. Plastic stools only."

Chi Cheng grinned—a genuine, predatory, excited grin. He loved this. He loved the fight.

"3%," Chi Cheng countered, his voice dropping to a rumble. "You pick half the restaurants. And…"

He paused, his eyes dropping to Suowei’s lips.

"…you let me drive you to work this morning."

Wu Suowei hesitated. His brain frantically did the math. 3% on a logistics contract of this volume was a massive amount of money. It was enough to hire new staff. It was enough to fix the office air conditioning. It was a victory.

"Deal," Wu Suowei whispered, his voice breathless.

Chi Cheng grabbed the pen from Wu Suowei’s hand, his fingers brushing over Wu Suowei’s knuckles, lingering for a second too long. He signed the bottom line with a flourish, the black ink sealing their fate.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Partner," Chi Cheng said.

He didn't move away. The contract was signed, the negotiation over, but he stayed in Wu Suowei’s personal space.

Slowly, deliberately, Chi Cheng reached out. He took the loose collar of the gray sweater and tugged it gently back into place, covering Wu Suowei’s exposed shoulder. His knuckles grazed the sensitive skin of Wu Suowei’s neck, sending a shiver straight down Suowei’s spine.

"Now sit down and eat your eggs," Chi Cheng commanded softly, the authority returning to his voice, but tempered with warmth. "You're going to need your strength if you plan to argue with me over 3% for the rest of your life."

Wu Suowei sat. He didn't want to admit he was starving, but the smell of the food was overpowering. He picked up his fork, stabbing a piece of fluffy scrambled egg with unnecessary aggression. He chewed mechanically, trying desperately to ignore the heat radiating from Chi Cheng.

The older man wasn't eating. He was leaning his hip against the marble counter, ankles crossed, sipping his coffee and watching Suowei eat with a heavy, unblinking gaze. It was the look of a keeper watching a rare animal settle into a new enclosure—patient, satisfied, and entirely possessive.

Bzzzt.

The sharp chirp of the intercom on the wall broke the thick tension.

Chi Cheng didn't look away from Suowei as he reached back to press the button. "Yes?"

"Delivery," the concierge’s polite voice crackled through the speaker. "A Mr. Jiang is here. He says he has… quote… 'critical survival items' for Mr. Wu."

Chi Cheng smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he glanced at Wu Suowei’s widened eyes. "Send him up."

Two minutes later, the private elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the foyer.

Jiang Xiaoshuai stepped out. He looked exhausted, bags under his eyes, clutching a plastic convenience store bag that contained Wu Suowei’s wallet, keys, and a phone charger. He took two steps into the penthouse and stopped, his eyes widening as he took in the sheer scale of the luxury—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the modern art, the terrifying lack of clutter.

"Da Wei, I brought your stuff," Xiaoshuai announced, his voice echoing slightly in the massive space. "I didn't know if you were dead or held hostage, so I figured I’d come rescue the body—"

Jiang Xiaoshuai stopped.

He stood at the edge of the kitchen, his mouth hanging slightly open.

First, he looked at Chi Cheng. The Boss looked incredibly fresh, holding a mug of coffee, looking like the master of the universe. And looking incredibly smug.

Then, he looked at Wu Suowei.

Wu Suowei was sitting on a high-backed bar stool, eating toast. But it wasn't the Wu Suowei that Xiaoshuai knew. The sharp suit was gone. The crisp professionalism was gone.

Wu Suowei was wearing a charcoal gray cashmere sweater that was clearly designed for a man with significantly broader shoulders. The hem fell past his hips. The sleeves were rolled up five messy times just so he could use his hands, and the wide collar hung loose around his neck, exposing the pale, vulnerable line of his collarbone and a hint of shoulder.

He looked soft. He looked kept.

It was the most disgusting yet domestic, undeniable "morning after" scene Jiang Xiaoshuai had ever witnessed in his life.

Jiang Xiaoshuai slowly lowered the plastic bag to the floor.

"I see," Jiang Xiaoshuai whispered, his voice hushed with awe.

Wu Suowei froze mid-chew.

"I see the 'negotiation' went… deep," Xiaoshuai finished.

Wu Suowei choked.

He inhaled a crumb of toast and coughed violently, his face turning a brilliant scarlet. He grabbed his water glass, wheezing as he pounded his own chest.

"It’s not what it looks like!" Wu Suowei gasped, his voice strangled. He gestured wildly at the sweater. "My suit was ruined from the rain! It was wet! This is… these are loaner clothes! Strictly utilitarian!"

"Uh-huh," Xiaoshuai said. He walked over to the island, leaning in to inspect his friend. He sniffed the air near Suowei. "Loaner cashmere. That fits you like a tent. And smells exactly like the Boss's cologne. Very standard corporate procedure. I read about this in Forbes."

Chi Cheng chuckled. It was a low, dark rumble that vibrated through the room, making Wu Suowei’s face burn hotter.

"Mr. Wu drives a hard bargain, Manager Jiang," Chi Cheng drawled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "He demanded a discount on shipping rates in exchange for… his company."

The double entendre hung in the air, heavy and suggestive.

Jiang Xiaoshuai looked at the signed contract lying on the counter, freshly inked. Then he looked back at Wu Suowei, who was currently drowning in Chi Cheng’s sweater and trying to look dignified while wiping crumbs from his mouth.

A look of profound respect crossed Xiaoshuai’s face.

"You negotiated a shipping discount while wearing his pajamas?" Xiaoshuai asked, awestruck. He shook his head slowly. "Da Wei, you are my hero. You are a business genius."

He paused, a grin spreading across his face.

"And also, you are definitely, one hundred percent gay."

"Shut up!" Suowei hissed.

Panic overriding his manners, Wu Suowei grabbed the remaining half of his buttered toast and shoved it directly into Xiaoshuai’s open mouth to silence him.

"Mmph!" Xiaoshuai mumbled around the bread, but he was laughing.

Chi Cheng watched them, taking a slow sip of his coffee. He looked at the chaos in his kitchen—the arguing friends, the crumbs on his counter, the beautiful man wearing his clothes.

It was noisy. It was messy.

I'll keep it, Chi Cheng decided.

—

Twenty minutes later, the elevator deposited them into the private garage in the basement of the building.

It wasn't so much a garage as it was a subterranean showroom. The floors were polished epoxy that reflected the overhead LED strips. The air was cool and smelled faintly of rubber and filtered air. Resting in the shadows were shapes covered in custom tarps, hinting at Chi Cheng’s collection of mechanical beasts.

Wu Suowei stepped out, shivering slightly as the cool basement air hit his exposed ankles. He immediately reached for the set of car keys Jiang Xiaoshuai was holding.

"I can drive myself," Wu Suowei insisted, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete space. He tried to summon his independent CEO energy, despite the fact that he was drowning in a borrowed sweater. "Xiaoshuai drove my car here. I can take it to the office. It’s on the way."

Chi Cheng moved before Suowei’s fingers could even brush the metal keyring.

With the speed of a striking cobra, Chi Cheng snatched the keys out of the air. He didn't even look at them before tossing them back to a startled Xiaoshuai.

"Manager Jiang," Chi Cheng ordered effortlessly, his tone brooking no argument. "Take Mr. Wu’s car back to his apartment. Park it safely."

"Yes, Boss!" Xiaoshuai chirped, catching the keys and backing away rapidly toward Wu Suowei’s sensible sedan, happy to escape the blast zone of their pheromones.

"But—" Suowei started, turning on Chi Cheng with a scowl. "I didn't agree to—"

"Clause 14, Paragraph D," Chi Cheng recited smoothly.

He walked over to a sleek, obsidian-black Maybach parked in the center spot. He pulled the passenger door open. The interior was cream leather, looking inviting and impossibly comfortable.

"The Client (me)," Chi Cheng clarified, gesturing to himself, "provides executive transport to ensure the Vendor (you) arrives safely, punctually, and without dissolving into a puddle of stress before the workday begins."

Wu Suowei crossed his arms, the sweater sleeves bunching up. "I made that clause up. It doesn't exist."

"It does now. I mentally amended it in the elevator."

Chi Cheng stepped closer, using his height to corner Wu Suowei against the open door of the luxury car. He leaned down, invading Wu Suowei’s space until Wu Suowei could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

Chi Cheng’s voice dropped to a low, husky whisper, meant only for them.

"Besides," Chi Cheng murmured, his eyes traveling slowly down Suowei’s body, lingering on the gray cashmere. "You're wearing my clothes. You smell like me. I'm not letting you walk out of my sight unless I drop you off at the door myself. I don't want anyone else getting ideas."

Wu Suowei’s breath hitched. He glared at the older man, trying to find a biting retort, but the fight had drained out of him.

The garage was cold. The Maybach looked warm. And honestly… deep down, in a place he wouldn't admit to Xiaoshuai even under torture, he liked it. He liked the weight of Chi Cheng’s attention. He liked being claimed.

"Fine," Suowei grumbled, breaking eye contact to hide the flush rising on his cheeks.

He ducked under Chi Cheng’s arm and slid into the buttery soft leather seat. It enveloped him immediately, smelling of wealth and comfort.

"But don't expect a tip," Suowei muttered as he buckled his seatbelt. "My shipping discount is non-negotiable."

Chi Cheng smiled—a genuine, victorious curve of his lips.

"Your company is payment enough," Chi Cheng said.

He shut the heavy car door with a solid, satisfied thud, sealing his prize inside.

—

Wu Suowei’s company was small but respectable—a single open-plan floor in a modest mid-rise building in the business district. The carpet was industrial gray, the coffee was instant, and the fluorescent lights hummed with a reliable, budget-friendly buzz.

His employees were creatures of habit. They knew exactly what to expect at 9:15 AM: their boss’s sensible silver sedan pulling into the lot, followed by Wu Suowei rushing through the glass doors, clutching a thermos and a stack of invoices, already shouting instructions about customs forms.

They were not expecting the predator that arrived instead.

It started with a low vibration that rattled the pens on the receptionist’s desk. A sleek, obsidian-black Maybach—a vehicle worth more than the company’s entire annual projected revenue—glided silently to the curb right in front of the glass doors. It moved with the heavy, menacing grace of a shark entering a koi pond.

Inside the office, typing stopped. Phones were lowered. Heads turned in unison.

"Is that… is that a diplomat?" Little Li, the intern, whispered, pressing his nose against the glass.

"Maybe we're being raided?" the receptionist gasped.

The driver’s door opened.

Chi Cheng stepped out.

He straightened to his full height, adjusting his cuffs. He was wearing a sharp, impeccably tailored black suit and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes but did nothing to mask his aura of absolute dominance. He looked like he owned the street, the building, and the air everyone was breathing.

He walked around the hood of the car, ignoring the staring pedestrians, and opened the passenger door with a smooth, deliberate motion.

Wu Suowei stepped out.

The office collective gasped. The sound sucked the air out of the room.

Their boss—usually sharp, buttoned-up, and strictly professional in fitted suits—was emerging from a billionaire's car looking like the definition of a ‘kept man.’

He was wearing a charcoal gray cashmere sweater that was comically oversized. The sleeves were rolled up in thick cuffs, and the neckline was loose, slipping scandalously off one shoulder to reveal the pale skin of his collarbone. His hair was softer than usual, lacking its typical aggressive gel.

He looked disheveled. He looked well-fed. He looked thoroughly, undeniably, claimed.

Wu Suowei felt the heat of a dozen pairs of eyes burning into him through the glass. He hastily tried to smooth down the hem of the sweater, pulling the collar up, trying to regain a shred of his dignity.

"You're making a scene," Suowei muttered under his breath, refusing to look at Chi Cheng, his cheeks pinking. "They're all watching."

"I know," Chi Cheng replied calmly. He leaned back against the open car door, crossing his ankles, utterly unbothered by the audience. "Let them watch."

"Chi Cheng…"

"I'm marking my territory," Chi Cheng corrected, his voice low and vibrating with amusement. "I want them to know exactly who you belong to now."

Chi Cheng reached out. He didn't just touch Wu Suowei, he performed.

His large hand settled on the back of Suowei’s neck. He used his thumb to gently, deliberately straighten the collar of the sweater, his fingers lingering on Wu Suowei’s skin. It was a gesture that was intimate, possessive, and clearly visible to everyone pressing their faces against the office window.

"I'll pick you up at six," Chi Cheng said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We have our first strategy dinner. Don't be late."

Wu Suowei swatted his hand away, though there was no real heat in it. He clutched the contract to his chest like armor.

"I'm never late," Wu Suowei shot back, trying to summon his CEO voice despite the cashmere paws covering his hands. "And don't you forget my 3% discount. I want it in writing."

"I'll have the revised invoice ready for dessert," Chi Cheng promised, a smirk curling the corner of his lips.

He tipped his sunglasses down, winked once—a devastating expression—and got back into the car. The heavy door thudded shut. The Maybach purred to life and pulled away, merging into traffic like a king returning to his castle.

Wu Suowei was left standing alone on the sidewalk.

He took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs. He could still smell the sandalwood and tobacco on the collar of the sweater. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and… exhilaratingly alive.

He steeled himself. He adjusted the sweater one last time, put on his ‘Boss Face’—glaring at the window until the faces disappeared—and marched toward the entrance.

He pushed the glass doors open.

The office was dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Every eye was glued to him. Little Li had dropped a stack of papers and hadn't bothered to pick them up.

Wu Suowei walked to the center of the room. He didn't explain. He didn't apologize.

"Good morning," Wu Suowei announced. His voice cracked only slightly before he found his rhythm. "The show is over. Get back to work. And someone get me the Q3 shipping reports on my desk in five minutes."

He swept past the front desk, heading for his office.

From the back of the room, the receptionist whispered loudly to the intern, "Is that the CEO from Logistics Weekly? Did the Boss just rob him, or date him?"

Wu Suowei’s hand paused on his office doorknob. He bit his lip, suppressing a smile that threatened to ruin his reputation forever. He pulled the oversized sweater tighter around himself, feeling the lingering warmth of the man who owned it.

Both, he thought, opening the door. Definitely both.