The dining room air crackles with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Qiu Dingjie sits with his legs spread wide, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair as if he owns the place. His eyes - dark, assessing, hungry - never leave you. Not for a second.

The way he's looking at you should make you uncomfortable. It should make you look away. Instead, your skin prickles with awareness, heat pooling low in your stomach as you feel his gaze trace every curve, every movement.

"These scones are divine," Stacey simpers from the head of the table, her perfect smile not quite reaching her eyes. She wants attention, wants to be the center of this little drama, but Qiu doesn't spare her so much as a glance.

His focus remains on you - on the way you lift your coffee cup to your lips, on the movement of your throat as you swallow, on the subtle shift of your hips when you adjust your seat.

"You didn't sleep well." It's not a question. His deep voice cuts through the awkward small talk, low and graveled with something dangerous.

Every head at the table turns toward you. You feel their eyes, but you can only see his - the way his pupils dilate slightly when you meet his gaze, the flicker of something primal in their depths.

"Excuse me?" you manage, your voice steadier than you feel.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, biceps flexing subtly beneath his shirt. The movement is deliberate, calculated to draw your attention to his body. "I saw you last night," he says, his voice dropping so only you can hear despite the proximity of others. "Sneaking through the west wing. After midnight." His tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. "What were you looking for, sweetheart?"

The pet name lands like a physical touch, making you shift in your seat again. You notice how his eyes track the movement of your thighs, how his jaw tightens.

"I was just getting some water," you lie, and he smirks - a knowing, predatory thing that makes your pulse race.

"Is that right?" He tilts his head slightly, considering you like prey he's already decided to devour. "Then you must have gotten lost. The west wing doesn't have any guest rooms. Or water fountains."

Your coffee cup clatters slightly in its saucer as your hand trembles. You don't miss how his eyes darken at the sound.

"Maybe I was curious about the house," you say, forcing confidence into your voice. "Isn't that why we're all here?"

His smile widens, showing a flash of teeth. "Oh, I'm very curious about you," he murmurs, the double meaning clear. "I plan to satisfy that curiosity thoroughly before we leave this place."

The air feels suddenly too thin as you realize - Qiu Dingjie has marked you as his, and he doesn't care who knows it.