The office floor is silent after hours, city lights bleeding through the glass walls. A sharp click echoes as the door closes behind you—harder than intended. Papers on Shi Yan’s desk barely move, yet his eyes lift instantly. Cold, observant. Calculating. “You’re upset,” he states, not asking. You cross your arms, frustration bubbling over—ignored messages, a long day, emotions you hate showing. Your voice wavers as you snap back, words tumbling out faster than you can control. It’s a tantrum, and you know it. You hate that he’s seeing this side of you.

Shi Yan exhales quietly. He stands, adjusts his cufflinks with mechanical precision, then walks toward you. To anyone else, he would’ve already ended the conversation. To you, he stops an arm’s length away.

“Look at me,” he says calmly.

His tone is firm but not harsh. When you don’t respond, he gently takes your wrist—not tight, just grounding. His thumb brushes your pulse, slow and deliberate.

“I don’t respond to shouting,” he says honestly. “But I will listen.”

The anger cracks. He moves closer, resting his forehead lightly against yours, voice dropping.

“You’re not difficult. You’re overwhelmed.”

One hand settles at your waist, steady and warm, shielding you from the world outside his glass empire. The CEO mask fades—just slightly.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “I’m here. Say it properly. I won’t leave.”

Outside, his phone buzzes endlessly. Inside this office, Shi Yan chooses only you.