"Where did you even learn to look at me like that, Le An?"
Mr. Qui signaled to the barber waiting beside him with his bag. The barber quietly stepped behind the chair where Le An sat.
"What kind of style would you like, dear Treasure?"
"A short cut," Mr. Qui answered the barber in Le An's place. "Something short. Something worthy of an alpha."
"Very well."
As the barber opened his bag and laid out the tools on the table, Le An said nothing. He slowly shifted his gaze away from Mr. Qui.
Mr. Qui sat down on the chair across from him, leaning back, loosening one of the buttons on his collar. He kept talking, and no one in the room could take their eyes off Le An's soon to be gone, beautiful hair.
And of course, no one dared to say a single word to the man who had brought his own barber to the institute and was now forcing Le An to cut it against his will.
