The clock ticked softly in the study.
It was afternoon, the kind of lazy, golden hour that painted everything in warm light and long shadows. Li Zeyan sat behind his desk, the glow from the tall window stretching across the wooden floor like a spotlight made just for her.
Because she was there.
Xu Meilin.
Curled on the couch by the bookshelves, reading a file for her department training. Legs folded, back straight. A loose blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted black pants that hugged her waist like it had been tailored for her and only her.
He hadn't meant to look.
He really hadn't.
But the moment she reached to turn a page, her shirt shifted,just enough for his eyes to trail to the delicate line of her waist, her back slightly arching, revealing the curve where her spine met her hips.
He swallowed.
Hard.
Turn away, Zeyan. Turn. Away.
He stared at his laptop screen instead.
Words blurred.
Numbers meant nothing.
She crossed one leg over the other, and the motion pulled the fabric tighter around her thighs, a motion so casual, so unintentional, but his mind snapped to it like it was a coded message sent directly to his sanity.
His pen rolled off the desk.
Clink.
She looked up. "Are you okay?"
Her voice was soft, untouched by any awareness of the storm she was stirring in him.
"I'm fine," he said quickly, voice lower than usual.
Meilin tilted her head. "You look flushed."
"I'm not." He adjusted his collar. "It's just... warm in here."
She smiled. Not teasing, just kind. Gentle. The kind of smile that shouldn't have held so much power.
Then she went back to reading.
But now he was very aware of how her lips parted when she focused. How she bit the inside of her cheek when confused. How her hair kept sliding down her shoulder, and how she kept tucking it back absentmindedly.
He wanted to stand. Walk over. Sit beside her. Maybe help her tuck that strand behind her ear , just to see if she'd lean into his touch the way she used to when she was drunk on fever that night.
No.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
You're not that man. You're not reckless.
And yet, his eyes kept drifting.
Like his body was acting without permission.
A small movement caught his attention.
She had shifted again, stretching her arms behind her head, yawning. Her blouse lifted ever so slightly, exposing the tiniest strip of skin above her waistband.
A sudden, inappropriate thought hit him.
Would her skin feel warm under his palm? Would she gasp if he—
"Zeyan?"
His heart jumped.
"Yes?"
She blinked. "You were staring."
"No, I wasn't." Too fast.
Meilin blinked again, then gave a small laugh. "Okay. If you say so."
She returned to her file, humming under her breath now.
And Li Zeyan stared at his hands.
Hands that used to hold only cold coffee and contracts.
Hands that now itched with a craving he didn't understand.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She wasn't supposed to affect him.
Not like this.
But here he was, perfectly dressed, perfectly silent, perfectly composed, and yet completely undone by the girl on his couch, reading documents like she wasn't dragging him to the edge of madness with every blink.