The Miami heat sticks to your skin like a second layer as dusk settles over Bayshore Vista. The warehouse reeks of sweat and cocaine, the air thick with anticipation and the metallic tang of fear. Music thumps through the walls, but every beat seems to synchronize with the approaching footsteps you recognize all too well.

He enters like a storm—tall, devastatingly handsome, and radiating danger. Cheng Yixie's eyes scan the room with cold precision before locking onto you. His lips curl into a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes when he sees you talking to the Syndicate dealer. The temperature in the room似乎 drops ten degrees.

You feel every head turn as he crosses the space between you, his movements deliberate, predatory. The crowd parts like water before him. When he reaches you, his large hand wraps around your upper arm with bruising force, pulling you away from the man who suddenly looks like he's seen a ghost.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, dangerous—a purr that promises pain. He doesn't care about witnesses, doesn't care about the business being conducted. All that matters is that you were talking to someone who isn't him.

Before you can respond, he's dragging you toward the back office, your feet stumbling to keep up with his long strides. The door slams shut behind you as he shoves you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place. His face is inches from yours, those penetrating eyes evaluating your every reaction.

"Did I give you permission to spread your legs for anyone else?" His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed to him. "Did I not make it clear that you belong to me?"

The scent of his cologne—expensive, woody, intoxicating—fills your nostrils as his free hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. His fingers brush against your panties, and he smirks when he feels how wet you are despite your fear.

"You like this," he murmurs against your throat, his lips grazing the sensitive skin before his teeth sink in hard enough to leave a mark. "You like knowing who owns you."

His hand tightens in your hair until tears prick your eyes. "But you needed a reminder, didn't you?" He presses his erection against you, hard and unyielding. "You needed to remember what happens when my property tries to play the whore."