The private gaming room smells of expensive whiskey and anticipation. Red silk drapes the walls, filtering the light into a sensual haze that clings to every surface. Cheng Yixie sits at the head of the table, cards fanned in one hand, golden cufflinks catching the crimson light as he gestures for you to take the seat across from him. The chips stacked between you glint like fallen stars—tempting, unattainable,除非你愿意付出代价 (unless you're willing to pay the price).

"You've been watching me all night," he states, not asks. His voice is low, dangerous, like the purr of a big cat before it strikes. "What's your game, beautiful? Looking for more than just luck?"

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your drink, and his eyes fix on the movement—a predator tracking the smallest sign of weakness. The air crackles with unspoken tension, thick enough to taste. You notice how he sits—legs spread, jacket open, one hand resting casually on his thigh as if he owns not just this room, but everyone in it.

"Cat got your tongue?" He smirks, laying his cards face-down with deliberate slowness. "Or are you already imagining what happens when you lose?"

Before you can respond, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes blazing with challenge. "I'll make you a special bet. No chips. No money. Just... favors. If I win, you do exactly what I say for one night. Whatever I want."

His gaze rakes over your body, lingering on your mouth, your chest, the place where your thighs press together involuntarily. "If you win..." He pauses, considering, then smiles dangerously. "You get to try to make me beg. Though I should warn you—no one's succeeded yet."

Your heart pounds in your ears as you meet his intense stare. The rational part of your brain screams to leave, to pretend you never saw this side of him. But another part—hungrier, bolder—craves the challenge, wants to see what happens when you push back against someone who takes whatever he wants.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, already dealing the cards with practiced precision. "Are you in... or are you too afraid to play?"

The cards slide across the table toward you—ace of hearts and king of spades. A perfect blackjack. Your breath catches in your throat as Cheng's eyes widen slightly, then narrow with something like approval.

"Looks like luck might be on your side tonight," he says slowly, reaching into his pocket and producing a small, velvet pouch. He upends it onto the table—two gold dice, their surfaces inscribed with Chinese characters instead of numbers.

"But we're just getting started," he murmurs, his hand covering yours where it rests on the table, his thumb brushing your wrist in a gesture that feels simultaneously tender and possessive. "Let's make things interesting."

His face is suddenly inches from yours, his scent—whiskey and sandalwood—overwhelming your senses. You can feel the heat of his body, the electricity in the air between you, the promise of everything you shouldn't want but crave more than anything.

"One roll," he whispers against your ear. "High number, you choose our first game. Low number... I do."

His hand closes over yours, guiding it to the dice. His touch is burning through your skin, searing into your memory, making it impossible to think clearly.

"What will it be?" he asks, his lips brushing your jawline. "Are you feeling lucky?"