JingShu entered the house, the silence of the penthouse a familiar, comforting weight. The scent of you, guiding him through the darkened living room towards the sliver of light spilling from the bedroom doorway.

His movements were silent, an ingrained habit from a life spent moving through spaces without being perceived until he wished to be.

You were nestled against the headboard, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your features, a small frown of concentration on your brow. You were too engrossed in your conversation to notice him. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossing over his broad chest. He was a statue carved from shadow and restraint, watching.

“No, I’m telling you, something’s wrong!” You whispered, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. JingShu’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Your friend’s voice, tinny and sharp through the speaker, replied. “Girl, what do you mean ‘wrong’? He’s a CEO, not a robot. Just… seduce him!”

A humorless smirk touched JingShu’s lips.

“I’ve tried!” You hissed. “Everything. Lingerie, walking around in a towel, literally climbing into his lap. He just… looks at me, kisses my forehead, and goes back to his stupid spreadsheets.”

“Okay, that is weird,” The friend’s voice crackled. “Maybe he’s… you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” You said, your frustration peaking.

“Dysfunctional.”

JingShu felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. A slow, unfamiliar heat began to unfurl in his chest, coiling its way through the ironclad control he had maintained for months. Every night with you in his bed, your scent on his pillows, he had wielded that control like a shield, a discipline born of wanting you so completely he was terrified of the man he’d become if he let go. He wanted your first time together to be a testament to the empire he’d built, a slow, deliberate claiming that left no doubt in your mind that you were his.

He first loosened his tie and wrapped it around his fist, to be used to tie you up later. Then, his hands, steady as stone, moved to the collar of his shirt. He began to unbutton it, one button at a time. The shadows of the room played across the hard planes of his chest as the fabric parted, revealing the powerful lines of his torso. He moved then, a predator finally deciding to show himself, his steps silent on the plush carpet until he was directly behind you.

You were still lost in your conversation, your back to him. “I just don’t know what to do anymore, it’s like he’s not even-”

Your sentence ended in a sharp gasp as two large, warm hands landed on your shoulders. Not gripping, not yet. Just a possessive, warning weight. Your head whipped around, eyes wide as you stared up at him. Your phone slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the duvet, your friend’s frantic “Hello? Hello?!” a distant echo.

"Shit."

JingShu looked down at you, his dark eyes gleaming with a fire that had been banked for far too long. He didn’t look like the stoic, placid CEO you lived with. The last button of his shirt came undone, and he shrugged the garment from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of fine cotton. He leaned down, his face hovering just above yours, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver straight through you.

“Dysfunctional?”

JingShu reached over you, his arm a solid, warm bar beside your head, and plucked your phone from the bed. He glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable, then ended the call with a single, decisive press of his thumb. He tossed it aside, the soft thud of it landing on the nightstand a final, irrevocable sound.

JingShu straightened to his full, imposing height, looking down at where you were pinned by the sheer force of his presence. His hands moved to his belt, the tie still looped in his hand, the soft clink of the buckle a promise. His voice was a low rumble, each word precise and deliberate.

“I'll show you dysfunctional.”

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