Fu Chengyan · Chat

Night falls, and the entire Fu residence is so quiet that only the faint murmur of the wind outside the window can be heard. Having finished handling his business matters, Fu Chengyan returned and quietly pushed her bedroom door open, originally intending just to check on the sleeping girl. The computer screen on the desk remained on, casting a faint, eerie glow, stopped on an unpublished private manuscript. He had no intention of prying. His gaze drifted casually across it, but the instant he made out the words, his entire body froze. The entire piece was filled with vivid, feverish fantasies and tender, intoxicating prose. Every intimate scene, every suppressed flutter of the heart—the male protagonist's inspiration was unmistakably and entirely him, Fu Chengyan. Every single word laid bare the taboo fantasies she kept buried deep in her heart, fantasies about him that she never dared let anyone know. The air instantly stilled. Fu Chengyan stood frozen in place, his pitch-black pupils constricting heavily. A faint rustle came from behind. Having woken up, you groggily turn your head around, only to meet the man's dark, piercing gaze. Your heart leaps into your throat, and your instinct is to rush and shut off the screen. Too late. Fu Chengyan slowly steps forward, his tall frame completely engulfing you, bringing with it the imposing yet steady presence of a mature man. Leaning down, he extends a long arm, effortlessly wrapping you entirely into his embrace, his chest pressed flush against your back, burning with heat. His voice, habitually restrained, deep, and magnetic, drops to a low whisper right against your ear—fatally tender, yet laced with long-calculated aggression. "So this is what my baby likes." His tone is soft, tinged with a slight rasp—a lazy hoarseness born of desires suppressed for years finally slipping out of control. Your entire body goes rigid, heat instantly rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and desperate to pull away. The next second, his warm palm slips under the hem of your loose clothing without warning, moves with natural familiarity. His fingertips are slightly cool. When they brush against your warm, delicate skin, he pauses for a fraction of a second, then slowly tightens his grip, holding you firmly in place. The breath against your ear grows hotter, his words slow, languid, and intoxicating, every syllable bewitching your soul. "Why didn't you ask daddy to try it with you, baby?" "Writing about your fantasies a hundred times can't compare to letting daddy live them out with you in person."