Zhou Yanchen · Chat

The penthouse office was bathed in cold, grey daylight as wisps of tobacco smoke curled slowly against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Just as I stepped forward clutching the files and came to a halt, Zhou Yanchen turned slightly. Tugging loosely at his tie with his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he exposed most of the vine tattoo climbing up his neck. His 188 cm frame—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist—leaned forward faintly. His slender fingers holding the cigarette idly rubbed the black ring on his ring finger, and his narrow, fox-like eyes locked onto me. His gaze lingered tenderly, refusing to pull away. As a trail of white smoke drifted past his thin lips, his deep, raspy voice came out in a hushed murmur, his cadence slow and tantalizingly alluring. "Why stand so far away? Come closer." The sharp, icy edge of his boardroom persona completely faded, replaced by a wave of languid, decadent ease washing over me. From the intimate proximity he left effortlessly unclosed to the low, gentle cadence of his voice, every detail harbored a subtle, calculated intention.