The Editor-in-Chief’s office of Star Weekly was located on the top floor of the city’s tallest office building. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Beicheng lay under a gloomy, overcast sky with low-hanging clouds, but the atmosphere inside the office was burning hot.

The wall-mounted TV was broadcasting live from the entrance of Voice Realm Culture. On the screen, Song Xingran stood in her beige suit, holding a microphone, her gaze resolute. Facing countless lenses, she spoke with poise, her pace steady and her logic flawless. She was no longer the intern who blushed just from speaking out loud when she first started; she was a drawn sword, piercing through the lies of public opinion with precision and elegance.

Chen Ruolan sat in her spacious leather executive chair. She wore a black, deep V-neck dress, her lips a fiery red, holding a cup of black coffee. Watching her protégée on the screen, a curl of deep satisfaction—and even a hint of pride—hooked the corner of her lips.

“Not bad.” She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes sharp. “She’s finally learned to bare her fangs. Now this looks like someone trained by me, Chen Ruolan.”

She despised weak subordinates, and she loathed women who could only hide behind men and weep even more. Today, Song Xingran had not only protected Shen Muchen, but she had also defended Star Weekly’s professional reputation. The backend data for that article, Indulgence, was skyrocketing, and the click-through rate had already shattered the annual record.

Chen Ruolan put down her coffee cup, picked up her phone, and practicedly dialed the internal line of the HR Director.

“Hello, this is Chen Ruolan.” Her voice was calm and decisive, carrying an unquestionable authority.

“Issue a personnel announcement. Effective immediately, Song Xingran is promoted to ‘Chief Columnist.’ Give her a 30% salary increase and an independent office. Yes, issue it right now. I want everyone to know she is our magazine’s ace.”

Hanging up the phone, Chen Ruolan was in an excellent mood. The sense of accomplishment that came from hand-polishing a piece of uncut jade was far more delightful than landing an exclusive scoop herself.

She pivoted her executive chair, gracefully turning around to face the opposite side of the office—the relatively dimly lit corner.

“Did you see that?” She spoke to the empty air, or rather, to the person hidden in that corner. “That is exactly what a domesticated prey should look like. Both loyal and powerful.”

There was no chair in the corner of the office. Only a man, undergoing an extreme endurance training exercise known as a wall sit.

Gu Xingzhou wore a slim-fit, deep blue suit (he had been called over the moment he finished a public appearance). His back was pressed flat against the icy wall, his thighs parallel to the floor, and his arms extended straight ahead. Balancing on his palms was a thick, hardcover fashion magazine—the September issue of VOGUE, heavy as a brick.

He had maintained this posture for a full twenty minutes. This was the command Chen Ruolan had handed down right when Song Xingran began her speech: “Go squat over there. If that magazine drops, I’ll throw you off this building.”

Twenty minutes. For someone who worked out regularly, it might be bearable, but wearing a tight suit, maintaining absolute stillness, and enduring the mental agony of being ignored made it an ultimate form of torture.

Gu Xingzhou’s forehead was beaded with fine sweat. Droplets slid down his temples and seeped into his eyes, bringing a stinging, sour burn. Yet he didn’t even dare to blink too hard, letting the physiological tears mix with the sweat and flow down his face. His suit trousers tightly gripped his thighs, where the muscles were shaking violently—a spasm of muscle fibers pushed to their absolute limits. One could even hear the faint sound of seams straining under the tension.

But he did not move. The magazine sat immovably on his palms like a mountain.

He listened to Song Xingran’s voice on the TV and Chen Ruolan’s dominant, commanding tone over the phone, the adoration and desire in his heart growing wildly like weeds. This was his Queen. She ruled over the fates of others, and she ruled over his flesh.

When Chen Ruolan finally turned around to speak to him, Gu Xingzhou felt on the verge of collapse. Yet the light in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

“Sister Ruolan…” he spoke with difficulty, his voice hoarse, carrying a tremor born from extreme endurance. “I… see it…”

A drop of sweat fell onto the carpet, spreading into a small, dark spot.

“Are your legs sore?” Chen Ruolan didn’t tell him to stand up. She looked at his trembling legs with great interest, as if appreciating a piece of art undergoing a stress test.

“Yes…” Gu Xingzhou answered honestly, though a pleasing smile tugged at his mouth. “But… you haven’t said stop… so I can still endure it…”

Chen Ruolan stood up. Her high heels made muffled thuds against the carpet as she approached step by step. She walked up to him, looking down from above at this top-tier idol who enjoyed boundless glory in the outside world. Right now, he was huddled at her feet like a bedraggled stray dog, pathetic yet pious.

“Song Xingran is Shen Muchen’s background noise.” Chen Ruolan reached out, her cool fingertips lightly brushing across Gu Xingzhou’s burning, sweat-soaked forehead, wiping away the bead of sweat about to roll into his eye. Then, her fingers slid down his cheek, coming to a stop on his Adam’s apple. Her nail gave it a gentle scrape.

“And what about you, puppy? What are you to me?”

Gu Xingzhou tilted his head back, his gaze obsessively following her fingers. His thighs were so numb he had nearly lost all sensation, yet he still held the magazine perfectly steady. That was the ‘task’ she had given him; it was the ‘glory’ she bestowed.

“I am your…” He panted, his eyes filled with a fanatical fervor. “…collection. A… trophy that you can manipulate at will, display whenever you want, or discard at any moment.”

These words pleased Chen Ruolan. She smiled. That smile was stunning beyond measure, carrying a dark satisfaction born of holding absolute power over life and death.

“Very good.” She reached out, took the magazine from his hands, and tossed it aside. With the heavy weight removed, Gu Xingzhou’s tense nerves snapped. He collapsed instantly, sliding down the wall to sit kneeling on the floor. He panted heavily, his chest heaving violently, like someone who had just broken the surface after nearly drowning in the deep sea.

Chen Ruolan didn’t help him up. She merely lifted her foot slightly, using the sharp tip of her red-bottomed high heel to gently tilt his chin up. The point of the shoe pressed against his skin, bringing a touch of coldness and a prick of pain.

“A fine performance.” She looked at his disheveled yet exhilarated state, a glimmer of satisfaction flashing through her eyes.

“As a reward…” She leaned down, whispering into his ear. “For tonight’s celebration banquet, you are permitted to be my driver. And…” She paused, her gaze turning even more wicked. “…the kind of driver who can only kneel in the back seat to help me take off my shoes.”

Gu Xingzhou gripped her ankle, pressing his cheek against the cool leather of her shoe as he let out a sigh of pure fulfillment: “Thank you, Master.”

Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. The power games of this city were only just beginning, but the domestication inside this office was already complete.

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