When did he even learn to kiss like that…?
Chi Zhan couldn’t push Zhou Yanxing away at all. The other man clearly had the upper hand—not just physically but technically. He only needed a loose grip on Chi Zhan’s wrists to keep him completely pinned.
Zhou’s kiss deepened relentlessly, as though he wanted to pull Chi Zhan into his very bones. Neither of them knew how long it lasted. It wasn’t until muffled voices began to rise from outside the room that Chi Zhan suddenly remembered—
The office door wasn’t closed.
It was left slightly ajar. If anyone walked by and happened to glance through the crack, they’d definitely see what the two of them were doing…
Panic surged through him, and Chi Zhan began to struggle harder.
Only then did Zhou finally pull back a little. He trailed a few lingering kisses along Chi Zhan’s ear before stopping. As his eyes caught the mist of tears in Chi Zhan’s, he brushed his thumb lightly across his wet lips and murmured, “Not allowed to kiss you?”
Chi Zhan’s cheeks, ears, and neck all flushed hot.
“President Zhou, the—door—is—OPEN!”
He practically spat the four words out one at a time.
The point was to remind Zhou Yanxing that they were just superior and subordinate—nothing more.
But Zhou raised an eyebrow, completely missing that implication.
“So you’re not saying no.”
***
Zhou the CEO’s grasp of logic had always been impeccable.
Chi Zhan wanted to explain further, but then felt like anything he said would just dig a deeper hole.
He couldn’t cuss him out… and yet also couldn’t not cuss him out.
Zhou Yanxing was always this domineering—it was in his DNA. He was the living embodiment of every overbearing CEO Chi Zhan had ever read about in those cheesy romance novels. But once you became the actual target? It wasn’t nearly as exciting.
Chi Zhan’s chest rose and fell slightly, a trace of shame flashing through him at the memory of how powerless he’d just been under Zhou’s kiss.
He should’ve slapped him—twice.
But then he looked at Zhou’s face… and hesitated.
That face could fetch at least six figures for a single night if he ever decided to jump into adult entertainment. If Chi Zhan damaged it, Zhou might even pretend to be injured and demand compensation for medical bills.
Zhou, meanwhile, walked over and shut the office door, sealing off the noise outside. Instantly, silence fell.
“Feel better now?” He smiled faintly. “Can I kiss you again?”
That was absolutely not what I meant.
Chi Zhan scrambled mentally for a way out and once again fell back on the same excuse.
“President Zhou, I already have—”
But Zhou was a step ahead, eyeing him lazily.
“You’re about to bring up that boyfriend again?”
One sentence, and Chi Zhan had nowhere to run.
“If you insist on continuing your little act with him, fine. I’ll pretend I don’t know.” Zhou’s tone was calm but cutting. “But tell me—what part of him is better than me?”
“That’s my private life,” Chi Zhan said, finally dodging the trap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Zhou read the evasion clearly and said slowly, “If you can convince me, I won’t interfere with your relationship again—from now on.”
That almost tempted Chi Zhan.
“Really?” he asked skeptically. “And you can’t… do things like that to me anymore either.”
Zhou curled his lips in a faint smile, offering no promise.
“Then convince me.”
Chi Zhan hesitated.
It smelled suspiciously like a trap—but for him, the bait was a little too enticing.
Secretary Chi’s conflicted expression made him look even cuter.
Zhou tapped the desk with a single knuckle—unhurried, measured.
“This is personal time. Once we’re back on the clock, I won’t have time to listen. Or…” Zhou’s gaze narrowed, “Do you actually think there’s no comparison between us?”
Back when he studied abroad, everyone around Zhou Yanxing had already started dating. He was the only one completely indifferent to the whole thing.
It wasn’t for lack of admirers—his desk was piled high every day with love letters and gifts. Zhou never even looked at them, just tossed them straight in the trash.
The guys in his dorm used to tease him: “Zhou, don’t you ever want a relationship?”
Zhou, eyes glued to the calculations for a complex module, didn’t even look up.
“It’s a waste of time.”
To him, dating meant bleeding hours from your life: breakfast dates, texting during lectures about trivial nonsense, wasting entire weekends glued to someone’s side, watching boring movies, visiting pretentious art exhibits, eating junk food.
Where was the time to get anything done?
Relationships also came with problems.
In his dorm, at least once a month someone would break up and cry like hell—drenched in alcohol, moping around for two weeks before moving on to the next guy.
Or they’d fight over the phone, scream at each other. Dating made people unrecognizable—irrational and tiresome.
Just hearing about it was enough to give Zhou a headache.
What was the upside to love, really? Aside from some fleeting pleasure, it was mostly suffering and wasted effort. The returns never justified the cost.
If someone had told him back then: You’ll fall hard for someone one day. You’ll be helpless without him. He’ll already have a boyfriend, won’t even like you, but you still won’t give up.
Zhou Yanxing would’ve thought they were completely insane.
And yet now, here he was—becoming exactly the kind of person he’d never imagined. Love was a poison, sweet on the tongue, but searing hot once swallowed. And still, he couldn’t let go.
“He’s very talented. And he sings beautifully.”
He’d seriously thought this through. No matter how you measured it, Zhou couldn’t compare to Chu Xingxiao when it came to musical skill.
But Zhou brushed that aside in one sentence.
“That’s all it takes for you to like someone?” he scoffed, amused. “Secretary Chi, you really shouldn’t be so shallow.”
