The VIP lounge of Jinghua Bespoke was located on the top floor of the city's most expensive commercial district. It was a place where billionaires and celebrities waited months for a single fitting.
When the private elevator chimed open, the boutique manager, Mr. Lin, was already standing at attention with his top three tailors behind him. He bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
"Boss Shen, it is an absolute honor," Mr. Lin said, his voice trembling slightly with awe.
Yan Ting's sharp amber eyes immediately swept the room. He noted the exits, the reinforced glass windows, and the exact position of every tailor. His massive frame instinctively shifted to block Ruoyin from any blind spots, his hand resting by his side. Even in a luxury tailor shop, the Mad Hound was ready to bite.
Ruoyin stepped out of the elevator, her silver hair catching the warm chandelier light. She looked entirely at ease, exuding the quiet, terrifying authority of a true hidden mastermind.
"Mr. Lin," she nodded gracefully. "I need an entirely new wardrobe for my head of security. Everything from casual wear to formal suits. Only the finest fabrics, no synthetic blends. And I need the first three sets rushed by tomorrow."
Mr. Lin wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Rushing a bespoke suit was practically impossible, but when the anonymous billionaire who secretly owned the building made a request, you didn't say no.
"Right away, Boss Shen!" Mr. Lin gestured frantically to his staff. "Sir, please, step up onto the fitting pedestal."
Yan Ting frowned. He looked down at Ruoyin, his deep voice rumbling with quiet protest. "Miss Shen. A standard tactical suit is fine. These fabrics are too delicate. If I need to fight, they will tear."
Ruoyin turned to him, a faint, teasing smile playing on her lips. She stepped uncomfortably close, forcing him to look down at her. "Yan Ting, you are no longer guarding a man who makes enemies in back alleys. You are guarding me. The only fighting you will do is fighting off the urge to look incredibly handsome. Now, step up."
It was an order. Yan Ting's jaw tightened, but his absolute obedience to her won out. He stepped onto the velvet pedestal. Because of his height, the pedestal made him tower over everyone in the room. He looked like a dark, imposing statue of a war god trapped in a room of silk and velvet.
"Take off the jacket," Ruoyin commanded softly, taking a seat on the plush leather sofa nearby.
Yan Ting unbuttoned his cheap, mass-produced black jacket and slipped it off. Underneath, he wore a standard white dress shirt that was clearly a size too small for his impossibly broad shoulders. The fabric pulled tightly across his chest, straining at the buttons.
Mr. Lin approached with a measuring tape, but as he got closer to the giant, he hesitated. Yan Ting's aura was suffocating. Up close, the lethal tension radiating from the mercenary's body made the poor tailor's hands shake. Every time Mr. Lin raised his arms to measure Yan Ting's chest, Yan Ting's amber eyes tracked the movement like a predator watching a threat.
"Ahem," Mr. Lin swallowed hard, his hands trembling violently. "Sir, could you... could you please relax your shoulders?"
Yan Ting was entirely rigid. "They are relaxed."
They absolutely were not.
Ruoyin watched this with a mixture of amusement and sudden heat. She could see exactly how uncomfortable Yan Ting was, but she could also see how magnificent he looked. The cheap shirt couldn't hide the thick, sculpted muscle underneath.
She stood up from the sofa. The soft rustle of her dress seemed to echo in the quiet room.
"Mr. Lin, give me the tape," Ruoyin said calmly.
The manager looked relieved enough to cry. He practically shoved the yellow measuring tape into her delicate hands and backed away to a safe distance.
Ruoyin stepped up onto the edge of the velvet pedestal, bringing herself closer to his height, though she still had to look up.
"Miss Shen, you shouldn't..." Yan Ting's voice was suddenly hoarse. He tried to take a step back, but there was nowhere to go.
"Hush," she murmured. "Raise your arms."
Yan Ting swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed heavily in his throat. Slowly, he raised his arms, his massive muscles flexing beneath the thin white fabric.
Ruoyin stepped into his space. The scent of her—something soft, floral, and expensive—instantly surrounded him, completely drowning out his senses. He was used to the smell of gunpowder and rain, not the intoxicating sweetness of the woman he secretly worshipped.
She wrapped the measuring tape around his broad chest. To do so, she had to lean in close, her arms essentially embracing him. Her soft, pale hands brushed against his firm back, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his core.
Yan Ting stopped breathing entirely.
"Fifty-two inches," Ruoyin called out, her voice perfectly steady, though her eyes darkened slightly as she felt the sheer, immovable wall of muscle beneath her fingertips. Mr. Lin scrambled to write the number down.
She moved to his waist. "Drop your arms."
He dropped them, his large hands hovering awkwardly in the air, terrified of accidentally touching her. She slid the tape measure around his narrow, taut waist. Her delicate fingers grazed the leather belt he wore, right where his holster used to be.
Yan Ting's entire body went rigid. A low, suppressed groan vibrated in his chest. "Miss Shen..." he warned quietly, his voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and dangerous.
"I told you to relax, Yan Ting," she whispered, stepping even closer. The tip of her nose was mere inches from the strong column of his neck. She could feel the intense, burning heat radiating off his skin. She could see the faint, jagged scar peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
Without thinking, she reached up. Her cool fingertips lightly traced the raised edge of the scar on his neck.
Yan Ting shuddered violently. His hands twitched, fighting every primal instinct in his body that told him to grab her waist, pull her against him, and bury his face in her silver hair. He was thirty-five years old, a man who had walked through hell, but right now, he was completely at the mercy of a twenty-five-year-old girl holding a tape measure.
"Who gave you this?" Ruoyin asked softly, her playful demeanor vanishing, replaced by a fierce, protective glint.
"A knife," he rasped out, his golden eyes burning as he looked down at her. "Seven years ago. It doesn't hurt, Miss Shen."
"I won't let anyone point a knife at you again," she stated, absolute authority ringing in her voice. She wasn't speaking as a weak wife; she was speaking as a billionaire who could crush anyone who dared touch what belonged to her.
Yan Ting's heart slammed against his ribs. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound was so loud he was terrified she could hear it.
She definitely could.
Ruoyin smirked, stepping back slightly to look at the numbers on the tape. "Your heart is beating very fast, Yan Ting. It's throwing off the chest measurements."
A dark, noticeable flush crept up Yan Ting's tanned neck, settling high on his sharp cheekbones. He looked away, his jaw tight. "It is... the room, Miss Shen. It is too warm."
"Is it?" Ruoyin laughed softly, a beautiful, melodic sound that made his stomach flip. She handed the tape back to the stunned Mr. Lin. "Thirty-four waist. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. You have the measurements, Mr. Lin. I want five suits in black, three in midnight blue, two in charcoal grey. Silk linings. And order a dozen custom shirts in black and white."
"Yes, Boss Shen! Right away!"
Ruoyin turned back to Yan Ting, who was still standing rigidly on the pedestal, looking thoroughly ravished simply by having his measurements taken.
"Put your jacket back on, my fierce hound," she teased, picking up her designer handbag. "We have one more stop before we go home. A luxury watch boutique. A man of your status can't be walking around with a cheap plastic tactical watch."
Yan Ting stepped down, hurriedly pulling his jacket back over his broad shoulders as if it were a shield. "Miss Shen, a watch is unnecessary—"
"Ah," Ruoyin raised a slender finger, stopping him mid-sentence. She walked past him toward the private elevator, throwing a devastating smile over her shoulder. "Did you forget? You belong to me now, Yan Ting. And I take very good care of my things."
Yan Ting stood frozen for a second, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away. His hands slowly curled into fists, his golden eyes darkening with a raw, possessive heat he couldn't hide anymore.
He was in so much trouble.