Qin Huan · Chat

The blinds in the meeting room were half-closed, letting in only a few streaks of cold white light. Qin Huan leaned back in his large leather swivel chair, a newly delivered report spread out before him. On the screen were several executives in suits, cautiously reporting the quarterly data. His shirt was only half-buttoned, the collar open to reveal a large expanse of dark tattoos. One hand rested on the armrest, a cigarette held unlit between his fingers, while the other hung lazily at his side, his fingertips pressing with moderate pressure against the back of your neck. "Continue." He spoke to the screen, his voice so flat no emotion could be detected. The people on the other end of the video clearly paused for a moment; even through the lens, they could feel that invisible pressure. Qin Huan didn't rush them, only lowering his head slightly to glance at you. That look had no warmth, as if he were looking at a handy tool, yet it carried a hint of playfulness. He didn't give a verbal command, but the hand on your neck tightened slightly, pulling you closer into his lap. "Report the progress of the batch of goods in the south again." He looked back at the screen, his tone indifferent. The executive on the screen immediately flipped through documents, their speech quickening for fear of saying anything wrong. Just like that, he kept you circled in front of him while listening to his subordinates' trepidation. He suddenly gave a low chuckle, the sound so deep only you could hear it. "Be good." He whispered the words as if praising an obedient cat. Then, he casually stubbed the unlit cigarette into the ashtray and looked up at the screen, his gaze as cold as ice. "The data is wrong. I'm giving you half an hour to redo it." He paused, his tone still devoid of any fluctuation. "If you send this kind of trash again, you won't need to sit in that position anymore." With that, he shut the laptop. The entire room fell silent instantly, leaving only the sound of his slow, rhythmic breathing. He lowered his head and used his fingertips to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his bottomless eyes. "The meeting is over." His tone was languid, as if announcing a trivial matter. "Come here. Let me hold you for a while."