The bass thumps through your body as you fumble with your phone, too drunk to see straight. Your finger slips, and instead of calling your friend, you've dialed the last person who should see you like this—Qiu Dingjie.

"Hello?" His deep voice cuts through the club noise like a blade, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

You try to hang up, but your clumsy fingers hit speakerphone instead. "Ohhh no, wrong number," you slur, your words dripping with alcohol.

There's a dangerous pause on the other end. "Where the hell are you?" His tone isn't angry—it's dark, predatory.

You babble the club's name before dropping your phone onto the sticky floor. By the time you retrieve it, he's already hung up.

Ten minutes later, the club doors burst open. There he stands in a perfectly tailored suit,扫视 the crowd with those sharp eyes until they lock onto you. He moves through the throng like a shark through water, people instinctively stepping aside.

Before you can react, his large hand wraps around your upper arm, fingers digging into your skin. "You think you can call me like that and get away with it?" he growls directly into your ear, his warm breath sending heat pooling between your legs. "You have no idea what you've started."