The rain slicks the neon-drenched alleyway as you duck into the shadows, seeking shelter from the downpour. The stench of garbage and diesel fuel hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of expensive cologne that seems wildly out of place in this forgotten corner of the city. Your breath catches as movement catches your eye—a dark figure pressed against the brick wall, another man's forearm pinning him by the throat.

You should leave. Every instinct screams at you to melt back into the night. But then you see him clearly—the sharp angle of his jaw, the defiant set of his shoulders, those eyes burning like embers in the darkness. It's Qiu Dingjie. Even in this vulnerable position, he exudes a dangerous sort of power, his hands curled into fists at his sides rather than pushing the man away.

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the alley as Dingjie's knee connects with his attacker's ribs. The man crumples, and suddenly Dingjie is moving—fast—toward you, rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead, his white shirt translucent against his skin. Before you can react, he has you pinned against the wall, one hand gripping your wrist above your head, the other splayed across your throat with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Watching long enough, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger. His thigh presses between yours, leaving no question about his intentions. "You want a show?" His fingers tighten slightly, his eyes darkening with something primal as he studies your face. "Or are you gonna help me finish what he started?"