Below is your chapter professionally edited in polished literary English. I have preserved every narrative beat, emotional layer, and plot element without omitting any content, while refining structure, tone, and clarity to reflect a professional editorial standard.
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Night was deepening. Through the large glass windows of the office, the city lights shimmered faintly in the distance. The entire floor was deserted—except for the small desk lamp glowing on Anya's table, its soft light slicing through the silence.
The exhaustion was evident on Anya's face. The workload had been so overwhelming that her eyes burned. She removed her glasses and placed them on the desk, then gently rubbed her tired eyes with her palms. Strands of hair kept falling across her face; with visible irritation, she pushed them back and tied them tightly with a rubber band.
After a moment, she took a break from her laptop. Sliding her earphones in, she played her favorite Jungkook (BTS) song, "Seven." As the melody filled her ears, she closed her eyes, as though trying to escape this suffocating world of deadlines and expectations.
Suddenly, the sharp echo of footsteps shattered the silence.
Anya opened her eyes.
Zayn Yan stood before her.
His coat was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Anger burned in his eyes—but beneath it, something else flickered. Concern.
Zayn (in a firm voice): "It's very late. Let's go home."
Anya (gesturing toward her laptop): "No, Zayn. There's still a lot left. After all, this is my 'punishment,' isn't it? I won't leave until I finish."
There was a strange stubbornness in her voice—one that only fueled Zayn's temper further. He noticed how red her eyes were from fatigue, yet her pride refused to bend.
He stared at her for a moment.
Then, without a word, he stepped forward and abruptly shut her laptop.
Anya gasped. "Zayn! What are you doing? You were the one who said the work must be done by midnight, otherwise—"
"Be quiet."
His voice was calm now—but laced with authority that could not be defied.
"I said, we're going home."
"I'm not going!" Anya tried to rise from her chair. "You can't order me around like this. I'm an employee—"
Before she could finish, Zayn didn't give her the chance.
He bent down, slipped one arm behind her waist and the other beneath her knees, and in one swift motion lifted her into his arms.
A soft gasp escaped her lips. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling.
Anya (whispering anxiously, glancing around): "Zayn, have you lost your mind? Put me down! There are CCTV cameras everywhere. If someone sees this, by morning the whole city will know who 'Mrs. Yan' is!"
His steps moved steadily toward the elevator.
A dangerous, careless smile curved his lips. He tightened his hold around her—as if he wanted the world to see exactly who she belonged to.
Zayn (in his deep, commanding voice): "Let them see. Every camera in this office, every corner, even this ground—belongs to me. And as for the boss… remember this, Anya. I am the boss here. I can carry whoever I want, however I want. No one dares question me."
Anya: "But you said my punishment would double if anyone found out!"
Zayn stepped into the elevator and looked directly into her eyes.
"Yes, I said that. And your punishment has changed. Once you're done obsessing over office files, start paying attention to your husband. Your real punishment is waiting at home."
The glass elevator doors slid shut, reflecting Anya's flushed face and Zayn's possessive stance.
Outside, the corridor remained silent.
As he carried her through the lobby, his black Rolls-Royce was already waiting at the gate. At his signal, the driver quickly opened the door. Zayn carefully placed Anya in the back seat and settled beside her.
He cast the driver a sharp glance and gestured briefly—the speed was to remain slow and steady. He would not allow even the slightest jolt to worsen her exhaustion.
Zayn was about to say something stern—
But Anya surrendered first.
Her body was completely drained. Slowly, she rested her head against his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.
Anya (in a soft, drowsy whisper): "Zayn… I'm so sleepy… just for a little while…"
The anger that had moments ago burned fiercely within him began to melt.
He noticed strands of her hair tangled near her glasses frame, brushing her cheeks.
Gently, he removed her glasses with his long fingers and placed them on the seat beside them. Then he carefully brushed her silky shoulder-length hair away from her face. His touch no longer carried frightening possessiveness—it held quiet reassurance and protection.
Half-asleep, Anya shifted slightly, instinctively seeking closeness.
Zayn wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer until she rested completely against his chest.
Zayn (whispering, almost to himself): "No matter how much you fight me, Anya… in the end, you'll always come back to my shelter."
The moment was so intimate that the driver, catching a glimpse through the rearview mirror, immediately lowered his gaze.
To the world outside, Mr. Yan might be a ruthless, stone-hearted boss.
But for Anya, he was simply a husband capable of boundless love.
The car moved slowly through the silent night. The city lights blurred outside, but inside, Zayn's steady breathing and Anya's peaceful sleep told a different story.
As he watched her, a question haunted him—
Would he ever truly be able to let her go?
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Zayn carried Anya carefully to her room and laid her gently on the bed.
In the dim light, his eyes fell upon the Jungkook (BTS) poster on the wall. A faint smile appeared on his face.
He murmured softly, "I used to be jealous of this boy, Anya… but now I understand why you like him. Maybe in his simplicity and calmness, you find what I could never give you through my anger and intensity."
He brushed her hair away from her face, placed her glasses on the bedside table, and tucked the blanket securely around her.
Anya slept peacefully, feeling safe.
But inside Zayn, a storm raged.
He left the room and entered his own dark space.
Opening the drawer of his desk, he revealed Anya's old pair of glasses, a smiling photograph of her, and pictures of her mother and sister.
He picked them up.
Hatred and love waged war in his eyes.
Zayn (voice trembling): "Do you know, Anya… your uncle destroyed my happy family. My entire childhood burned in the fire of that hatred. When I married you, I had only one purpose—revenge. I thought I would make your life hell by making you my wife. I thought I would destroy you and your family… but…"
His fingers traced over Anya's photograph. The hardness in his eyes softened with moisture.
"But I couldn't destroy you. Your innocence defeated the devil inside me. Now, all I want is to protect you from every hardship in this world. I want to keep you only with me—even if it means fighting myself and the hatred of my past."
He closed the drawer.
Standing by the window, he looked out at the city skyline.
He knew that by morning, he would once again have to become the "stone-hearted boss" and the "possessive husband."
Because his vulnerability—
might become Anya's greatest danger.