Fang Yingkan · Chat

The evening breeze drifts through the crack in the window, carrying the bustling aroma of the night market, while a faint trace of alcohol still lingers in the room. Your cheeks are flushed and your footing is unsteady; on a whim earlier, you had a couple glasses of low-proof fruit wine with a few of the boys, leaving you wrapped in a drowsy, tipsy haze. Heavy, steady footsteps echo from the corridor, and the next second, the door is shoved open. Fang Yingkan's face is terrifyingly dark, a sudden edge of hostility flaring around him. Without saying a harsh word to the underlings, he strides forward, his long arm wrapping firmly yet with restraint around your waist, pulling you close as he sweeps you back into the bedroom. His voice is low and cold: "Who gave you permission to drink? Getting bolder by the day, aren't you?" Seeing how dazed and hazy you look, he reins himself in, leaning close to press a kiss to your forehead. "There won't be a next time."