The Teacher of Power Hues

The leather of the executive chair still held the faint scent of my father’s cologne—a ghost in the fabric. I sat in it for the first time, the high back swallowing my twenty-two-year-old frame, and surveyed the penthouse office that now belonged to me. The city sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a grid of glass and steel that bent to no one’s will but mine. The old man was dead. Heart attack in a boardroom three thousand miles away. They said he went quick. I didn’t care how he went; I cared that he left me everything.

The door clicked open without a knock.

Gao Ya stepped in, her heels sinking into the Persian rug with practiced silence. She was thirty-five, but her body had not received the memo—curves poured into a charcoal pencil skirt, a cream blouse unbuttoned one too many, the skin at her collarbone gleaming under the track lighting. She set a leather-bound folder on the corner of my desk and then stood there, arms folded just beneath her breasts, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Respect. Hunger. A calculation I didn’t yet have the numbers for.

“Congratulations, Mr. Lin,” she said. Her voice was honey over gravel, a low contralto that had soothed my father’s temper for a decade.

I leaned back in the chair. “Drop the formality. You’ve known me since I was twelve.”

“I knew you as the brat who threw a tantrum when the jet was late for your skiing trip.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re not a brat anymore.”

I felt the weight of her gaze travel down my chest, pause at my belt, then lift back to my eyes. She didn’t look away. That was new. For years, she’d played the game—walking past my door in dresses that left nothing to the imagination, bending over filing cabinets when I happened to be in the hall, letting her fingers drag along my shoulder for a second too long. But she never let me touch her. Always a smile. A polite refusal. *Your father would have my job,* she’d say, and I’d seethe.

Now there was no father. No job to lose.

I stood up and walked around the desk. She didn’t flinch. I stopped a foot from her, close enough to smell the floral perfume she’d worn since I was seventeen. “Why now?”

“Because the gatekeeper is gone,” she said simply. “And I’ve waited eight years for you to grow up.”

My hand moved before I thought. I caught her jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her ear, and forced her chin up. She didn’t resist. Her eyes went half-lidded, her lips parting just enough to show the tip of her tongue. I ran my thumb across her lower lip, and she bit it gently. The heat that shot up my arm was almost painful.

“You’re mine now,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“I’ve always been yours.” She stepped closer, her hip brushing my thigh, her hand sliding up my chest to the knot of my tie. “I just had to wait for the leash to change hands.”

I pushed her back against the edge of the desk. The folder skittered to the floor. Her hands caught the wood on either side of her, and she arched her back, offering herself like a feast. I didn’t take it yet. I wanted her to squirm.

“Tell me what you want,” I said.

“I want to serve you.” The words came out breathless. “Your father was a good master, but he was old. Tired. I managed him, not the other way around. You’re different. You have the hunger he lost.”

“I want to hunt.”

She smiled, slow and predatory. “Then let me help you. You need people who will break cleanly. Who will thank you for the shattering.”

I released her chin and stepped back. She straightened her blouse without looking down, her composure already reborn. I liked that. A secretary who could recompose herself in seconds was a secretary who could handle messes.

“Speak,” I said.

“Department manager, Zhao Qiang. Thirty years old. He’s been with the company for six years, running the logistics division. Good worker, terrible spine. He wants a vice president slot so badly he’d sell his wife to get it.” She paused, letting the words hang. “And he has a wife. Wang Xue. Head nurse at Renmin Hospital. Recently transitioned into a white-collar role. She’s grateful, pliable, and she knows who signs her paychecks now.”

I walked to the window and stared down at the traffic crawling through the veins of the city. “You’ve been researching.”

“I’ve been waiting for your reign to begin.”

I turned. “Why a cuckold? Why not just a compliant yes-man?”

“Because yes-men are boring.” She walked around the desk and perched on the corner, crossing her legs with a whisper of nylon. “A cuckold is a trained animal. He knows he’s inferior. He watches everything he values slip into another man’s hands, and he thanks you for the privilege. Zhao Qiang is perfect. He’s weak, he’s ambitious, and his wife is beautiful enough to make the game interesting.”

I imagined it. A man in a cheap suit, sweat beading on his forehead, watching from the shadows while I took everything he thought was his. Power. Status. His wife’s body. The thought tightened something in my chest.

“Set it up,” I said. “Call him to my office tomorrow. Let me see this animal.”

Gao Ya slid off the desk and retrieved the fallen folder from the floor. She placed it back on the polished mahogany without a sound. “He’ll come. He always does.”

She turned to leave, her hips swaying with a rhythm she knew I was watching. At the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder.

“One more thing, Mr. Lin.”

“What?”

“Zhao Qiang has a classmate. Li Ya. A female executive in marketing. She was your father’s… project. He kept her off the books, but she’s well-trained. Elegant. Broken just enough to be useful.”

“What happened to her after he died?”

“She’s lost. No master. Wandering.” Gao Ya’s smile was razor-thin. “She needs a new leash.”

I let the silence stretch, savoring the shape of the gift. “Bring her too. I’ll see all the livestock.”

She nodded once and slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sat back down in my father’s chair, the leather still warm from my own body. The city glittered below, millions of lives I hadn’t yet touched. But I would. One by one, I would reach into their little worlds and squeeze until they gave me what I wanted.

The phone on my desk buzzed. An internal call from security.

“Mr. Lin? There’s a Mr. Zhao Qiang in the lobby. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says Gao Ya called him. Should I send him up?”

I smiled. The animal was eager.

“Send him up,” I said. “And have Gao Ya stay. I’ll want her behind the desk when I break him in.”

I hung up and loosened my tie, the hunger in my chest a living thing now. The hunt had begun.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lin Yi’s office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. Zhao Qiang stood before it, his hands clasped behind his back, a posture of deference that had become second nature over the past few days. He had been summoned, and the knot in his stomach told him this was either the breakthrough he craved or the beginning of something far more complicated.

Lin Yi leaned back in his leather chair, a faint smile playing at his lips. He held a pen, tapping it rhythmically against a folder. “Zhao Qiang, I’ve been watching your work. The cross-departmental coordination has been... acceptable.”

Zhao Qiang’s heart leaped. “Thank you, Director Lin. I’ve tried to follow your guidance.”

“Acceptable, but not exceptional.” Lin Yi’s voice was flat, a blade wrapped in velvet. “However, I see potential. I’m naming you acting director of the integration project. Effectively immediately.”

The words hung in the air. Zhao Qiang felt a rush of warmth, then a cold shiver. Acting. Not official. The title was a leash, not a crown. He swallowed. “I’m honored, Director Lin. I won’t let you down.”

“Of course you won’t.” Lin Yi set the pen aside and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me about your wife. Wang Xue, isn’t it?”

Zhao Qiang blinked, caught off guard. “Yes, Director. She’s a head nurse at the city hospital. She works night shifts mostly. It’s... difficult.”

“Night shifts.” Lin Yi repeated the words as if tasting them. “That must be hard on the family. Your schedule here is demanding enough.”

“It is, sir. She’s exhausted, and I barely see her. But there’s no way around it. The hospital system... seniority matters more than skill.” Zhao Qiang’s voice trailed into a sigh before he caught himself. He straightened, not wanting to appear weak.

Lin Yi’s smile widened, a predatory curl. “What if I told you I could change that?”

Zhao Qiang’s throat tightened. “Director, I... how?”

Instead of answering, Lin Yi picked up his phone and dialed a number from memory. He didn’t bother to put it on speaker, but the room was silent enough that Zhao Qiang could hear the faint ring. After a moment, a voice answered.

“Old Zhang, it’s Lin Yi. I need a favor.” His tone was casual, almost bored. “The head nurse in your surgical ward, Wang Xue. She’s been doing a good job, but the night shifts are hurting her performance. I’d like her transferred to the hospital office as deputy director. Yes, effective Monday.”

Zhao Qiang’s breath caught. He heard the other end stammer something—objections, perhaps, or questions—but Lin Yi cut through them.

“I don’t think there’s any problem. She’s qualified. And it would help with some... administrative efficiencies I’m planning. You’ll see the paperwork within the hour.”

A pause, then a reluctant agreement. LinYi hung up without another word.

“It’s done.” He looked at Zhao Qiang, who stood frozen, mouth slightly open. “She’ll report to the office Monday morning. No more night shifts. She’ll have a small team under her, a proper title. She’ll be a leader now.”

Zhao Qiang’s knees felt weak. Grateful tears pricked at his eyes. He had struggled for years to get his wife out of that grueling rotation, and this man had solved it with a single phone call. The power was staggering. “Director Lin, I don’t know how to thank you. This is... this is more than I could have hoped for.”

“You can thank me by delivering results on the integration project.” Lin Yi’s voice hardened, a subtle reminder. “And by understanding that loyalty is always rewarded. This is the carrot, Zhao Qiang. The stick will only come if you disappoint me.”

Zhao Qiang nodded vigorously, his gratitude mixing with a new, deeper sense of obligation. “I understand completely, sir. I will not disappoint you.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Zhao Qiang bowed slightly and backed out of the office, his heart pounding. As he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Lin Yi already turning to his computer, the transaction already forgotten. In that moment, Zhao Qiang understood: he had been given a gift, but the price of that gift was his soul.

In the outer office, Gao Ya watched him pass, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She had seen this before—the gratitude, the anxiety, the first taste of a debt that could never be fully repaid. She picked up her phone and typed a quick message to Lin Yi: *Another one hooked.*

Back at his desk, Zhao Qiang sat down, staring at the email notification that had just arrived. It was the official appointment for his wife: Deputy Director, Hospital Administration Office. Effective Monday.

He called Wang Xue, his voice shaky. “Honey, your job... it’s been changed.”

“What? How?” Her voice was tired, likely just off a shift.

“Director Lin. He made a call. You’re now deputy director of the hospital office. No more night shifts.”

There was a long silence. Then, a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Zhao Qiang, is this a joke?”

“No. It’s real. He did it for me.”

Another pause, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower, more serious. “Why would he do that? What does he want?”

Zhao Qiang had no answer. The knot in his stomach tightened. But the gratitude felt good, and the promotion felt inevitable. He pushed the doubt aside.

“Don’t question it,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Just be grateful.”

He hung up and stared at the screen, the weight of the debt pressing on his shoulders. The carrot had been sweet. He could only pray he never tasted the stick.

The evening air settled over the quiet suburban street like a heavy blanket. Zhao Qiang sat at the dining table, his fingers drumming against the polished wood while his wife Wang Xue moved about the kitchen, the clatter of dishes punctuating the silence between them. The meal had been finished for twenty minutes, but neither had touched the tea cooling on the counter.

Wang Xue finally wiped her hands on a towel and sat across from him. Her eyes, usually bright with the efficiency of her nursing shifts, now held a troubled depth. “We can’t keep avoiding this, Qiang. He gave us the down payment. He got your promotion pushed through. I still don’t understand how a phone call from that young man made the hospital board reverse my transfer without a single question.”

Zhao Qiang’s jaw tightened. He had replayed the moment a hundred times—Lin Yi’s dismissive wave, the casual promise over expensive coffee, the way the personnel director had stammered the next morning. “He’s the son of the deputy mayor, Xue. That’s how these things work. Connections. Favors.”

“Favors,” Wang Xue repeated, her voice soft but edged with something between wonder and unease. “Favors like that don’t come free. You know that. I know that. What does he want from us?”

The question hung in the air. Zhao Qiang reached for his tea, found it cold, and set it down with a clink. “He said we could repay him by being loyal. That’s all. Just… loyal.”

Wang Xue shook her head slowly. “Loyalty means nothing if it’s not tested. Qiang, I’m a nurse. I’ve seen what happens when people owe debts to powerful men. They don’t forget. They collect.”

She stood and walked to the window, staring out at the dark street. Her reflection stared back at her—a thirty-year-old woman who had clawed her way from a cramped apartment to this modest house, who had traded night shifts for a day administrative role, who had finally felt the ground solid under her feet. And now this.

“I think we need to do more than dinner,” she said, turning to face him. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly as she folded them. “I think we need to show him we’re grateful. Completely.”

Zhao Qiang looked up, his expression flickering between confusion and a dawning dread. “What do you mean?”

Wang Xue walked back to the table and placed her palms flat on its surface, leaning toward him. “I mean we invite him here. To our home. We cook for him. We let him see that we’re not just grateful with words. We let him know that whatever he needs, we’ll provide.”

“Xue, that sounds—”

“It sounds desperate,” she interrupted, her voice gaining iron. “Because I am desperate. Do you think I want to go back to begging for shifts? Do you think I want to watch you crumble under another year of stagnation? He opened a door, Qiang. We have to walk through it, and we have to make sure he keeps it open.”

Zhao Qiang’s throat worked. He thought of Lin Yi’s cold, appraising eyes, the way the young man had looked at Wang Xue during their one meeting—not with lust, exactly, but with a kind of evaluative interest, as if measuring her worth. “And if he wants more than a home-cooked meal?”

Wang Xue’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then we give it. Whatever it takes. I won’t let this opportunity slip because of pride.”

She straightened and turned away, but not before Zhao Qiang saw the spark in her eyes—not fear, not reluctance, but a strange, quiet resolve. He had seen that look in his wife before, during the worst nights in the ER when she had to make split-second decisions. It was the look of someone who had accepted the cost and was ready to pay.

Later, as she cleared the table, Wang Xue’s mind wandered. She remembered the first time she saw Lin Yi—young, handsome, radiating an authority that made men twice his age step aside. She remembered the flutter in her chest, not of attraction but of recognition. Here was a man who could reshape her world with a word. And for reasons she didn’t fully understand, that power called to something deep within her.

She thought of the weeks since his favor, the way she had started dressing more carefully, the way she held herself taller in the hospital corridors. She thought of the dream she had last night—Lin Yi’s hand on her shoulder, his voice low and commanding, and her own voice answering, “Yes, sir.”

She pushed the memory away, but a heat lingered in her cheeks. She was a head nurse, a professional, a wife. But she was also a woman who had spent years fighting for scraps, and now someone had offered her the whole feast. The price was unclear, but she had already decided to pay it.

In the bedroom, Zhao Qiang lay awake staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed—a message from Gao Ya. He opened it reluctantly.

“Mr. Lin is pleased with your gratitude. He expects more. Be ready.”

That was all. No signature, no context. But Zhao Qiang understood. He looked at his wife, her back turned to him, her breathing already steady in feigned sleep. He knew she was awake too. They were both waiting for the other to speak, to admit what they were becoming.

Neither did.

Across town, in a penthouse that overlooked the glittering city, Lin Yi lounged in a leather armchair, a glass of whiskey warming in his hand. Gao Ya stood before him, her tablet glowing with the latest updates.

“The Zhao couple are ready,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Wang Xue is especially eager. Her psychological profile shows strong submissive tendencies masked by professional competence. She’ll break beautifully.”

Lin Yi took a slow sip, savoring the burn. “And Zhao Qiang?”

“Weak-willed. Grateful. He’ll follow wherever she leads. The only question is how long before he starts to enjoy it.”

Lin Yi smiled, a cold, thin curve. “They always do. What about Li Ya and her husband?”

Gao Ya swiped the tablet. “Li Ya is still conflicted, but her husband suspects nothing. Zhao Qiang’s cover story about the reunion holds for now. She’ll need more direct pressure before she submits fully.”

“Arrange a meeting. Just her and me. Let her see what I can offer—and what I can take away.” He set down the glass and stood, walking to the window. The city sprawled beneath him, a maze of lights and lives, all waiting to be arranged.

Gao Ya stepped closer, her presence a shadow at his side. “And the next step for the Zhaos?”

Lin Yi turned, his eyes cold and bright. “Invite them to my private dinner next Friday. Tell Wang Xue to wear something appropriate. Let her know that her repayment begins in earnest.”

Gao Ya nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. “She’ll be honored.”

“Yes,” Lin Yi said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She will.”

The office air hummed with the low murmur of keyboards and the occasional phone ring. Zhao Qiang sat at his desk, a stack of reports in front of him that he couldn't focus on. His eyes kept drifting across the open-plan floor to the glass-walled corner office where Li Ya sat. She was his department superior, a role she'd held for nearly two years. But more than that, she was his college classmate, a fact that always made him feel a strange mix of familiarity and distance.

She was thirty, like him, but carried herself with an elegance that seemed almost practiced. Today she wore a cream silk blouse and a tailored black skirt, her hair pinned up in a loose bun. A few strands fell across her cheek as she leaned over a document. Even from here, Zhao Qiang could see the fine bones of her wrists, the way her fingers moved with precise grace. She looked every bit the successful executive.

He remembered her from university days—quiet, studious, always buried in books. Back then, she had been plain, almost invisible. Now she was polished, confident, commanding. And yet, there was something in her eyes when she glanced up, a flicker of something that made him uncomfortable. It was as if she was always looking past him, at something only she could see.

Zhao Qiang caught himself staring again and quickly lowered his eyes to the report. But his mind wouldn't settle. His recent promotion to department manager had been unexpected, and he still felt like a fish out of water. He owed it to Lin Yi, the new executive assistant who had taken an interest in him. But that interest came with a price. The meetings, the strange requests, the way Gao Ya looked at him like he was a piece of machinery she was learning to operate.

He pushed the thought away. Today he just needed to focus on work.

The glass door of Li Ya's office opened, and she stepped out, a folder in hand. She walked toward the copier near his desk, her heels clicking a steady rhythm on the tile floor. As she passed, she gave him a small smile. "Morning, Zhao Qiang. How are you settling in?"

"Good, thank you, Li Ya." He straightened in his chair. "Still finding my feet."

"That's natural." She stopped at the copier, placing the folder on the tray. "If you need any help with the department reports, just ask. I know the old system can be confusing."

"I appreciate that."

She pressed a button and the machine hummed to life. For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the rhythmic thump of paper sliding through rollers. Zhao Qiang was acutely aware of her presence, the faint scent of jasmine perfume that clung to her.

"You knew the chairman well, didn't you?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Li Ya's hand paused on the copier. She turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "The old chairman? Yes, I worked closely with him for a few years. Why do you ask?"

"Just... I heard some things. About how you got this position." He immediately regretted saying it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine." Her voice was cool but not unfriendly. "People talk. But you should know, Zhao Qiang, that in this company, advancement comes to those who are willing to make sacrifices. Some sacrifices are visible. Others... are not."

She retrieved her copies and smiled at him again, but this time the smile didn't reach her eyes. It was a mask, smooth and practiced. "If you want to succeed here, you'll have to learn that lesson sooner or later."

She turned and walked back to her office, leaving Zhao Qiang with a prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

Later that afternoon, Zhao Qiang had to deliver a file to the executive floor. As he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Gao Ya walking down the corridor, her heels echoing against the marble. She was talking on her phone, her voice low and smooth.

"—yes, he's ready for the next stage. I think the adjustment is going well. No, no resistance yet. But we'll see."

She noticed Zhao Qiang and ended the call with a quick word. "Zhao Qiang. Good timing. I was just thinking about you."

"About me?"

"Come with me. There's something I want to discuss about your training schedule." She led him toward a small conference room, her hand brushing his elbow in a way that was both professional and possessive.

Inside, she closed the door and leaned against the table, crossing her arms. "I hear you've been talking to Li Ya."

His stomach tightened. "We just exchanged a few words. About work."

"Is that all?" Her eyes narrowed. "Because I hear things too, Zhao Qiang. And I know that you're curious. You want to understand how things work here. That's fine. But curiosity can be dangerous."

"I'm not trying to—"

"Let me tell you a story." Gao Ya's voice softened, took on a confiding tone. "Li Ya was like you once. She came to this company bright-eyed and ambitious. She saw the old chairman, saw the power he held over every decision, every promotion. She wanted a piece of it. So she went to him. Not for sexual reasons, at first. She just wanted to learn. To be close to power."

Zhao Qiang listened, his heart beating faster.

"He took her under his wing. Gave her opportunities. But with each opportunity came a debt. A small favor here, a secret there. Before she knew it, she had given him everything—her loyalty, her body, her will. She became... a tool. A very effective tool."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand that there are two paths in this company. The path of those who resist, who struggle, who eventually break. And the path of those who accept, who surrender, who find peace in being useful." She stepped closer, her perfume enveloping him. "You're already on the second path, Zhao Qiang. You just don't know it yet."

She left him in the conference room, the door clicking shut behind her. He stood there, his palms damp, his mind churning with images he didn't want to see. Li Ya's elegant smile, Gao Ya's knowing eyes, Lin Yi's cold, satisfied gaze. They were all connected, a web he was being drawn into.

When he returned to his desk, he glanced again at Li Ya's office. She was on the phone now, her posture stiff, her voice tight. She was arguing with someone, her hand gesturing sharply. Then she stopped, her shoulders sagging, and she nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand."

She hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment. Then she looked up and her eyes met Zhao Qiang's. For a split second, he saw it—the same flicker of resignation he had seen in his own reflection this morning. The look of someone who had traded their freedom for a promotion and was still paying the price.

She turned away, and Zhao Qiang felt a cold certainty settle in his gut. Whatever game was being played here, he was already a piece on the board. And Li Ya, for all her elegance and power, was just another piece. Just like him.

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. I leaned back in my leather chair, fingers steepled, watching Gao Ya as she stood before me in her fitted charcoal skirt suit. Her posture was impeccable, hands clasped behind her back, waiting for my command.

“He’s ready,” she said, her voice smooth as polished marble. “Zhao Qiang has been pacing outside his office for the last hour. He sent me three emails this morning, each one more desperate than the last. His quarterly reports are late, his team is falling apart, and the board is starting to ask questions.”

I allowed myself a thin smile. “Good. Fear is the first step. Now we give him an escape route.”

I slid a hotel key card across the desk. The Royal Meridian, suite 1218. A private floor, soundproofed, cameras already installed. Gao Ya picked it up without hesitation, her fingers brushing mine with practiced reverence.

“He’ll receive the address at noon,” she said. “No details. Just a time and a place. He’ll come. He’s too afraid not to.”

“And Li Ya?”

“Already secured. I told her the chairman wanted a private evaluation of her leadership potential. She arrived at the hotel an hour ago. She’s waiting in the suite, blindfolded, as instructed.”

I stood and walked to the window, looking down at the city below. Tiny cars, faceless people, all moving in their predictable patterns. Soon, I would have two more pieces on my board.

“Make sure Zhao Qiang sees everything,” I said. “Every detail. Every moment of hesitation. I want him to understand exactly what kind of game this is.”

---

The Royal Meridian smelled of lavender and polished brass. Zhao Qiang stepped out of the elevator, his palms slick with sweat. The address had arrived via a text from an unknown number: *Suite 1218. Come alone. Your future depends on it.*

He knew it was a trap. But what choice did he have? His career was crumbling, his wife was asking questions, and Lin Yi held every string. If this was a test, he had to pass.

The door to 1218 was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light bled into the hallway. He pushed it open with a trembling hand.

The suite was vast—a living area with cream-colored sofas, a wet bar, and floor-to-ceiling curtains that were drawn tight. But what stopped him cold was the scene in the center of the room.

Li Ya knelt on a plush white rug, her body completely naked. A black silk blindfold covered her eyes. Her wrists were secured behind her back with leather cuffs, attached to a chain that ran to a ring bolted into the floor. Her hair, usually styled in a neat updo, hung loose around her shoulders. She was trembling, her breath shallow and quick.

Besider her stood Gao Ya, dressed in a sleek black catsuit that hugged every curve. In one hand, she held a riding crop. In the other, a small camera phone, its red recording light blinking.

And on the sofa, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand, sat Lin Yi. He watched Zhao Qiang with the detached interest of a man observing an insect under glass.

“Close the door,” Lin Yi said. His voice was quiet, but it filled the room.

Zhao Qiang couldn’t move. His eyes were locked on Li Ya—his classmate, his colleague, the woman he had silently admired for years. She was here, bound and helpless, while his boss watched.

“I said close the door.”

The command snapped him back. He fumbled behind him, pulled the door shut. The lock clicked like a gunshot.

“Good,” Lin Yi said. He took a sip of his scotch. “You’re learning to follow orders already. That’s promising.”

Gao Ya tapped the crop against Li Ya’s shoulder. “You know who’s here, don’t you, darling?”

Li Ya’s voice was barely a whisper. “No. You only told me to wait. To obey.”

“But you can guess, can’t you?” Gao Ya circled behind her, running the crop down her spine. “You can feel his eyes on you. A man you’ve known for years. A man who’s always wanted you, but never had the courage to say it.”

Zhao Qiang felt his face burn. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Li Ya’s body was flawless, her skin pale and smooth in the dim light. Her nipples were hard, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.

Lin Yi set down his glass and stood. He walked to Zhao Qiang, stopping only a foot away. His cologne was subtle, expensive. His eyes were cold.

“You’ve spent years pining for her,” Lin Yi said. “Watching her from across conference tables, imagining what she would feel like, taste like. But you never acted. Because you’re weak. You’re a coward. You wait for things to happen to you, instead of taking them.”

Zhao Qiang swallowed. His throat was dry. “Mr. Lin, I don’t understand—”

“You understand perfectly.” Lin Yi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I am giving you a gift. Li Ya is here because I ordered her here. She will do whatever I tell her to do. And right now, I am telling her to serve you.”

He turned to Gao Ya and nodded.

Gao Ya unhooked the chain from the floor ring. Li Ya slumped forward, but Gao Ya caught her by the hair, pulling her upright. She guided Li Ya across the rug, her knees scraping against the fibers, until she was positioned directly in front of Zhao Qiang’s polished leather shoes.

“Kneel,” Gao Ya said softly.

Li Ya obeyed.

Then Gao Ya reached down and unbuckled Zhao Qiang’s belt. He gasped, stumbling back, but Gao Ya’s grip on his belt was iron. “Don’t move. This is what you came for, isn’t it?”

He looked at Lin Yi. Lin Yi was watching, his expression unreadable. He raised an eyebrow. A dare. A test.

Zhao Qiang’s heart hammered. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to call the police, to wake up from this nightmare. But his body refused to move. His eyes were fixed on Li Ya, on her blindfolded face, on her lips parted in submission.

Gao Ya finished with his belt. His trousers fell to his ankles. He stood there, exposed, trembling.

“He’s ready,” Gao Ya said to Li Ya. “Show him what you’ve learned.”

Li Ya leaned forward. Her lips parted. And then she took him into her mouth.

Zhao Qiang’s knees nearly buckled. He cried out—a sound that was half shock, half pleasure. Li Ya worked with practiced rhythm, her tongue and lips moving in ways he had only ever imagined. She was skilled, eager, hungry. She moaned against him, and the vibration sent a shiver up his spine.

Gao Ya held up her phone, recording everything. The camera captured his face, his wide eyes, his slack jaw. It captured Li Ya’s devotion, her blind obedience.

And Lin Yi watched it all, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Thirty seconds. A minute. Zhao Qiang couldn’t last. He came with a shuddering gasp, his hands gripping Li Ya’s shoulders as she swallowed every drop.

When he finally pulled away, he was gasping for breath. Li Ya stayed kneeling, her head bowed. Gao Ya lowered the phone.

Lin Yi clapped slowly, once, twice. “Well done. You’ve passed the first test.”

Zhao Qiang’s face was a mask of shame and confusion. “Mr. Lin, I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Of course you did,” Lin Yi said. “You’ve wanted this since the day you met her. The only difference is that now, you know how to get it. Through me.”

He walked to the bar, poured himself another scotch, and turned back. “Gao Ya has the video. It’s very clear. Very compromising. Should it ever find its way to your wife, or to HR, your life as you know it would end.”

Zhao Qiang’s face went pale.

“But that’s not my goal,” Lin Yi continued. “My goal is to help you become better. Stronger. More obedient. And in return, I will give you everything you want. Promotion. Security. And Li Ya—whenever you need her.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“All you have to do is accept your place. In this room, and in my company.”

Zhao Qiang looked at Li Ya, still kneeling, still blindfolded. He looked at Gao Ya, who smiled with cold amusement. And he looked at Lin Yi, who held his future in his hands like a toy.

He nodded.

“Good,” Lin Yi said. “Now help Gao Ya clean up. We have more work to do.”

The evening air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and cheap ambition. Wang Xue sat at a private dining table in the Imperial Garden Restaurant, her new navy blue business suit feeling like armor against the predatory glances of the men surrounding her. The old hospital leader, Director Fang, refilled her glass for the fourth time.

"Secretary Wang, your first week in administration deserves a proper celebration," Fang said, his fingers brushing hers as he passed the wine bottle. His breath smelled of baijiu and decades of unchecked power.

Wang Xue forced a smile. "Director Fang, I really shouldn't—"

"Nonsense. A woman in your position needs to build relationships. This is how business gets done." His eyes traveled down her neck, lingering where her blouse buttoned.

She drank. The liquid burned.

At the same moment, Zhao Qiang stood outside Lin Yi's office, his hands trembling as he clutched his phone. The caller had been one of the nurses, a friend who still kept watch. "Manager Zhao, your wife is at the Imperial Garden with Director Fang and his crowd. They're drinking heavily. I thought you should know."

Now he stood before the young CEO, his voice cracking. "Mr. Lin, I need your help. It's Wang Xue. That old fox Fang is pressuring her. She can't refuse—it's her first week. If she offends him, her career is over before it starts."

Lin Yi leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. The soft desk lamp cast shadows across his sharp features. "Zhao Qiang, sit down."

"But sir—"

"Sit."

Zhao Qiang obeyed, perching on the edge of the visitor chair like a bird ready to flee.

Lin Yi's voice was calm, almost bored. "What you're describing is standard business practice. Socializing. Relationship building. Unspoken rules that have governed this city for decades. Your wife chose to enter administration. This is part of the package."

"She didn't know it would be like this!" Zhao Qiang's voice rose. "She wanted a better job, not to be someone's drinking entertainment."

"Everyone wants something. The question is what they're willing to pay." Lin Yi picked up his phone. "But I'll make a call. Consider it a favor."

He dialed three numbers. The conversation lasted thirty seconds. "Director Fang? Lin Yi. Yes. I hear you're having dinner with my new administrative secretary's wife. Small world. I'd appreciate it if you let her go home early tonight. She has work to prepare for me tomorrow."

A pause. Fang's voice crackled with forced joviality on the other end. "Of course, Mr. Lin. Of course. Just a welcoming dinner. She can leave whenever she wants."

"Good. Enjoy your evening."

Lin Yi hung up. "It's handled. She'll be home within the hour."

Zhao Qiang's shoulders sagged. Tears welled in his eyes. He grabbed Lin Yi's hand with both of his, squeezing desperately. "Mr. Lin, I don't know how to thank you. You're a lifesaver. I owe you everything."

"Don't mention it." Lin Yi's smile was thin, cold. "Go home. Be a good husband."

After Zhao Qiang left, Gao Ya emerged from the side door, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She set a tablet on Lin Yi's desk, the screen displaying a structured document titled: *Wang Xue - Training Protocol: Phase One.*

"Sweet," she said, running a manicured nail down the list. "He's properly grateful. Guilty and indebted. That's the sweet spot."

Lin Yi didn't look at the tablet. He looked at Gao Ya. "Start tomorrow. Soft entry. Let her sense the direction before we push."

"Always do."

The next morning, Gao Ya found Wang Xue in the office kitchen, pouring coffee with shaking hands. The night before had left her pale and hollow-eyed, but alive. Free.

"How are you feeling, secretary Wang?" Gao Ya's voice was velvet wrapped around steel.

"Better, thank you. I heard you're the one who... who helped me. Through Mr. Lin."

"Mm. We look after our own here." Gao Ya leaned against the counter, her tight pencil skirt riding up as she crossed her arms. "That outfit, though. Blue suit, white blouse. Competent, but boring. You need to be seen, Wang Xue. Not just in the room, but noticed."

Wang Xue blinked. "I—I just started. I didn't want to make waves."

"Waves are how you rise." Gao Ya's gaze was measured, studying. She reached out and adjusted Wang Xue's collar, fingers brushing her collarbone just a second too long. "Tomorrow, wear something with a V-neck. A modest one. Show some skin, but keep it classy. And heels. Always heels. You're not a nurse anymore. You're a player in the game."

Wang Xue's breath caught. She understood. The message was clear. *Submit to the makeover, or submit to worse.*

"I... I have a black dress. Not too short."

"Good girl." Gao Ya smiled, and it didn't reach her eyes. "Come to my office after work. We'll go over your wardrobe. Shoes, accessories. How you walk, how you sit, how you hold your wine glass. You'll learn, Wang Xue. And it will change everything."

Wang Xue nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. Part of her screamed resistance, the old Wang Xue who was a head nurse, independent, proud. But that part was already being drowned out by a louder voice—the voice that had seen Lin Yi's power with a single phone call, that knew safety came with a price.

And she would pay it.

At seven that evening, Gao Ya led Wang Xue into a private room on the third floor. Mirrored walls, a rack of clothes, a pedestal. The room of a stylist, or a trainer.

"Strip."

The word hung in the air. Wang Xue's hands went to her blouse buttons, hesitating.

Gao Ya walked behind her, close enough that her breath warmed the back of Wang Xue's neck. "If you can't obey simple instructions, you can't survive here. Mr. Lin saved your career last night. Saved your dignity. Do you think Director Fang would have stopped at more baijiu?"

"No."

"Then show gratitude. Strip."

Wang Xue's fingers moved. The blouse fell. The skirt pooled at her feet. She stood in her underwear, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the floor.

Gao Ya circled her, touching the fabric of her bra. "Plain. Functional. Nurse's underwear." She clicked her tongue. "We'll replace everything. Lace, preferably black or dark red. You'll wear it underneath your power suits. A secret. A reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"That you belong to someone now. That every choice you make, from what you wear to how you smile, serves a purpose." Gao Ya handed her a silk robe. "Put this on. Let's begin."

Wang Xue let the robe slide over her shoulders. The fabric felt like a second skin, smooth and dangerous.

She had walked into this building as a wife, a mother, a survivor of one trauma.

She was beginning to understand she would leave as something else entirely.

And somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, a treacherous whisper asked: *What if that isn't entirely a bad thing?*

The private dining room at the Imperial Club glowed with warm amber light, the long mahogany table set for eight. Lin Yi sat at the head in a charcoal suit, tie loosened, one hand resting on the armrest as Gao Ya leaned in to whisper something that made him smile thinly. The other seats were filling with three old shareholders—white-haired men in tailored jackets who carried the weight of decades in the company’s founding years.

“Mr. Lin, the liquor cart is ready,” Gao Ya said, straightening. Her navy dress hugged her figure, but her attention was already on the door. “Zhao Qiang just texted. They’re in the lobby.”

Lin Yi tapped his watch. “Five minutes late. That’s a bad first impression for the wife.”

On the ground floor, Wang Xue stood in front of a full-length mirror in the women’s lounge, her reflection a stranger. Gao Ya had chosen the dress—a deep emerald that plunged low at the neckline, the fabric clinging to her curves. Black stockings smoothed her legs, and the heels, a shade too high, made her ankles ache. She tugged at the hem, but Gao Ya’s hand stopped her.

“Leave it,” Gao Ya said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This is how you show respect. Mr. Lin values presentation, and tonight he wants everyone to see who you belong to.”

Wang Xue’s throat tightened. “I’m just accompanying my husband.”

Gao Ya met her eyes in the mirror. “You’re here because Mr. Lin invited you. That means you’re his guest. And his guests look a certain way.” She adjusted the strap on Wang Xue’s shoulder, then smiled. “Don’t worry. Once the old shareholders see you, they’ll understand exactly what kind of favor Mr. Lin is doing for Zhao Qiang.”

Zhao Qiang waited in the hallway, his hands clammy. When Wang Xue emerged, he blinked, his mouth opening and closing. The dress was more than he expected, the heels changing her posture. She looked… owned. He swallowed.

“You look beautiful,” he managed.

Wang Xue’s smile was tight. “Let’s just get this over with.”

They entered the private room together. The shareholders glanced up, their eyes lingering on Wang Xue in a way that made Zhao Qiang’s stomach turn. Lin Yi rose, gesturing to the seat beside him—a chair that was conspicuously close to his own, not beside Zhao Qiang.

“Zhao Qiang, welcome. And this must be your lovely wife, Wang Xue.” Lin Yi extended a hand, and Wang Xue took it, her fingers cool. He held them a moment longer than necessary. “Please, sit here. We have much to discuss.”

Zhao Qiang moved to take the chair across from her, but one of the old shareholders, a man named Old Zhang, cleared his throat. “Hold on there, Manager Zhao. You’re the host tonight, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be pouring the tea?”

The room went quiet. Zhao Qiang froze, his hand hovering over the chair back. Lin Yi watched, his expression unreadable. Old Zhang smiled, a gold tooth glinting.

“We old dogs like to see initiative. A man who can’t serve tea can’t serve the company’s interests.” He pushed a full pot across the table. “Come, pour for us. Show us your dedication.”

Zhao Qiang looked at Wang Xue. Her eyes were downcast, her hands folded in her lap. He felt the weight of Lin Yi’s gaze, the silent expectation. His pride warred with his ambition. The promotion dangling in front of him was a life raft for their debts, for the renovations, for the future they’d been promised.

“Of course, Mr. Zhang.” He picked up the pot with both hands, the ceramic hot through the cloth. He circled the table, filling cups with trembling hands. When he reached Lin Yi, Lin Yi didn’t lift his cup. He simply tapped the rim.

“Fill it to the brim, Zhao Qiang. I like a full glass.”

Zhao Qiang poured until the amber liquid threatened to spill. Lin Yi nodded once and took the cup, sipping without saying thank you.

“Now stand there,” Old Zhang said, pointing to a spot near the wall. “We have things to discuss, and you can listen while you wait.”

Zhao Qiang stood, his hands clasped behind his back, his face burning. The conversation shifted to quarterly reports and market trends, but he barely heard it. His eyes kept drifting to Wang Xue, who sat rigid beside Lin Yi, her wine glass untouched.

Lin Yi noticed. He leaned toward her, his voice low but carrying. “You’re not drinking, Mrs. Zhao? The shareholders brought a fine vintage.”

“I… I don’t drink much, Mr. Lin.”

“Tonight you do.” He filled her glass halfway. “Come, let’s toast to new friendships. To your husband’s bright future.”

Wang Xue lifted the glass, her hand unsteady. She took a sip, but Lin Yi shook his head. “No, a real toast. All of it.”

She drank. The wine was dry, bitter on her tongue. She set the glass down, and Lin Yi immediately refilled it.

“Good. Now, let’s eat.” He picked up his chopsticks, selecting a piece of abalone, and held it out to her. “Open.”

The table stilled. The shareholders watched, amused. Zhao Qiang’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move from his spot by the wall. Wang Xue hesitated, her gaze flickering to her husband. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

She opened her mouth. Lin Yi placed the abalone on her tongue, his fingers brushing her lower lip. She chewed, tasting nothing.

“See?” Lin Yi said, his eyes never leaving her face. “Obedience makes everything taste better.”

The dinner wore on. Zhao Qiang was called to refill drinks, to fetch napkins, to hold a plate while an old shareholder picked at a fish. He did it all without complaint, his face a mask of deference. Wang Xue was fed, her glass refilled, her body leaning closer to Lin Yi as the alcohol softened her resistance. At one point, Lin Yi’s hand rested on her knee under the table, and she didn’t push it away.

By the time the meal ended, Wang Xue was flushed, her words slurred. Zhao Qiang helped her into the car, his hands gentle. The drive home was silent, the streetlights flashing across her face.

At their apartment, she collapsed onto the couch, kicking off the heels. Zhao Qiang knelt beside her, loosening his tie.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” Her eyes were glassy but focused. “He’s going to promote you, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is what we have to do.” She sat up, cupping his face in her hands. “It’s just a dinner. It’s just… a role. We play the parts he wants, and we get what we need.”

Zhao Qiang’s throat ached. “I watched him touch you. I stood there like a—”

“Like a smart man,” she interrupted, her voice hardening. “He has power. Money. We have nothing but this chance. If we do this right, we’ll never have to worry again.” She pulled him close, her lips brushing his ear. “I can do this. I can be what he wants. But I need you to be strong. I need you to let me.”

He buried his face in her shoulder, his body shaking. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” She stroked his hair. “We’re a team, Zhao Qiang. We always have been. And if this is the price, we pay it together.”

They sat in the dim living room, arms wrapped around each other, the silence thick with resignation. She kissed the top of his head, and he held her tighter.

Tomorrow, there would be another call, another summons. Tonight, they had each other, clinging to the last thread of themselves before they gave everything away.

The private KTV room on the third floor of the Haoyun Club was soundproofed and dimly lit, with a long leather sofa curving along the back wall. I sat at the center, legs crossed, a glass of brandy in my hand. Gao Ya had arranged everything—the room, the drinks, the seating order. She knew exactly how I liked these sessions to begin.

The door slid open, and Gao Ya entered first, her pencil skirt hugging her hips as she gestured for the couple behind her to step inside. Zhao Qiang walked in with his head slightly bowed, his tie straight but his shoulders tense. Behind him, Wang Xue hesitated at the threshold, her nurse’s uniform still on from her shift. She had changed into a simple blouse and skirt, but her posture remained professional, cautious.

“Come in, sit,” I said, gesturing to the sofa across from me. My voice was calm, unhurried.

Zhao Qiang nodded quickly and took a seat at the far end of the curved sofa. Wang Xue followed, sitting beside him, her hands resting on her knees. Gao Ya closed the door and sat beside me, close enough that her thigh pressed against mine. She picked up the songbook and flipped through it idly, but her eyes were on the couple.

I took a slow sip of my drink, watching Zhao Qiang’s nervous fidgeting. He kept glancing at Wang Xue, then at me, then down at his shoes. Pathetic.

“Relax,” I said. “We’re just here to have fun. Singing, drinking, getting to know each other better.” I set the glass down and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Gao Ya tells me you’ve been doing well in the new position, Zhao Qiang. The numbers are looking good.”

His face lit up with a flicker of hope. “Thank you, President Lin. I’ve been working hard.”

“I know you have.” I smiled. “And hard work deserves rewards. That’s why I wanted to spend some time with you and your lovely wife tonight.”

Wang Xue shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. Her eyes met mine for a brief second, then dropped. I could see the calculation behind her gaze—the gratitude for the appointment, the uncertainty of what came next.

Gao Ya stood and walked over to the karaoke machine, selecting a song. A slow, sultry ballad began to play through the speakers. She turned back to us, a glass of red wine in her hand. “Why don’t we start with a toast? To new beginnings.”

I raised my glass. Zhao Qiang quickly grabbed his beer bottle and held it up. Wang Xue picked up a glass of juice. We clinked, and I saw the tension in Wang Xue’s hand as she brought the glass to her lips.

After a few sips, Gao Ya moved to sit beside Zhao Qiang, her hand landing on his knee. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “You’re so tense,” she murmured, her voice low enough for only him to hear. She leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. “Let me help you relax.”

I watched the scene unfold while keeping my attention on Wang Xue. She was pretending to study the song list, but her eyes kept darting to her husband. I stood and walked around the low table, settling onto the sofa beside her. She didn’t move away.

“Your husband seems to be in good hands,” I said, nodding toward Gao Ya, who was now whispering something that made Zhao Qiang’s ears turn red. “Why don’t you and I get to know each other better?”

Wang Xue’s voice was barely audible. “I… I’m grateful for the opportunity you gave him, President Lin. Really.”

“Gratitude is good.” I reached out and took her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull back. Her palm was warm, slightly calloused from nursing work. “But actions speak louder than words, don’t they?”

I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her fingers. She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening, but she didn’t resist. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zhao Qiang watching us from his seat, his face pale under the dim lights. Gao Ya had her arm around his shoulders now, her other hand tracing lazy circles on his chest. He sat frozen, like a deer caught in headlights.

I released Wang Xue’s hand and placed my palm on her cheek, turning her face toward mine. “Look at me.”

She obeyed. Her eyes were a deep brown, filled with conflict—fear, curiosity, and something else. A flicker of resignation. I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers.

She didn’t kiss back at first. Her mouth was stiff, her breath held. I let the kiss linger, soft but insistent, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, her lips softened. A small sigh escaped her, and I felt her body lean into me just a fraction. Good.

When I pulled back, her cheeks were flushed. I traced my thumb across her lower lip, wet from the kiss. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She shook her head, eyes downcast. I smiled and slid my hand down from her face to her collarbone, then lower, onto her blouse. My fingers found the first button.

“President Lin—” she started, her voice a whisper.

“Shh.” I pressed a finger to her lips. “You said you were grateful. Let me feel it.”

I undid the button slowly, then the next. She wore a simple white bra underneath, lace-trimmed. Zhao Qiang made a small choking sound from across the room, but I didn’t look at him. I heard Gao Ya’s soft laughter, followed by a whispered, “Eyes on me, darling.”

My hand slid inside Wang Xue’s open blouse, cupping her breast over the lace. She gasped, her back arching slightly. Her skin was warm, her nipple hardening beneath my touch. I squeezed gently, watching her face—lips parted, eyes half-closed, caught between shame and sensation.

“Lie on my lap,” I said, pulling her toward me. She hesitated for only a second before shifting sideways, resting her head on my thigh. I continued to fondle her breast, my other hand stroking her hair. She closed her eyes, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

Across the room, Gao Ya had Zhao Qiang in a similar position. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his head between her thighs as she held his face against her skirt. “That’s it,” she cooed, her voice sweet and cruel. “Breathe in. You’re doing so well.”

I glanced over and saw Zhao Qiang’s hands gripping his own knees, white-knuckled. His face was buried in Gao Ya’s lap, but I could see the tremor in his shoulders. He knew. He saw everything—my hand on his wife’s breast, her body yielding against mine. And he did nothing.

I turned back to Wang Xue, hooking a finger under the cup of her bra, pulling it down to expose her breast fully. The pink of her areola stood out against her pale skin. I lowered my head and took her nipple into my mouth.

She moaned, a low, broken sound, and her hand came up to grip my hair. Not to push me away—to hold me there. I sucked gently, then harder, rolling my tongue around the sensitive bud. Her hips shifted, pressing against my thigh.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, so softly I almost missed it.

I released her with a wet pop and looked down at her flushed face. “Who do you belong to now, Wang Xue?”

Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, the old nurse, the proud wife, flickered in her gaze. Then it faded, replaced by something hungry and obedient. “You,” she breathed. “I belong to you, President Lin.”

I smiled and pulled her up for another kiss, deeper this time. My hand slid down her stomach, under her skirt, finding the damp heat between her thighs. She whimpered into my mouth.

From across the room, I heard Gao Ya’s voice, crisp and commanding: “Look at them, Zhao Qiang. Look at your wife.”

I broke the kiss and turned my head. Zhao Qiang was staring at us, his eyes red-rimmed, tears threatening to spill. Gao Ya held his chin, forcing his gaze to stay fixed on Wang Xue and me. His chest heaved with silent sobs, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t resist.

I let my hand continue its work, watching him watch me. His wife’s moans filled the room, mingling with the soft melody still playing from the speakers. Her body writhed against mine, her control crumbling completely.

“You’re doing so well, Zhao Qiang,” I said, my voice calm and level. “Learning your place.”

He nodded, a jerky motion, and choked back a sob. Gao Ya pulled him into an embrace, stroking his hair like a child. “That’s right,” she murmured. “It hurts now, but it gets easier. Trust us.”

Wang Xue’s climax came suddenly, a shuddering cry that she buried against my shoulder. I held her through it, stroking her back, as she trembled and gasped. When she stilled, she looked up at me with dazed, adoring eyes.

I kissed her forehead. “Good girl.”

Gao Ya stood, smoothing her skirt, and walked over to the karaoke machine to switch the track to something upbeat. “We’re just getting started,” she said, flashing a smile at the couple. “More drinks, more fun. And Zhao Qiang—next time, you’ll join in.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and nodded again, too broken to form words.

I settled back into the sofa, Wang Xue curled against my side, her hand resting on my chest. Gao ya returned with a fresh bottle of brandy and poured me a glass. I took a long drink, savoring the burn.

The night was young, and I had plenty more to teach them.