The Black Lizard bar smells like sweat, synthetic alcohol, and danger—the way Qiu Dingjie likes it. Your heart pounds as you spot him across the room, surrounded by sycophants but his eyes already locked onto yours like a predator sensing prey.

He doesn't hesitate. Shoving through the crowd with that arrogant swagger that used to make your legs weak, his silver hand glinting under the strobe lights. People scatter before him, knowing better than to block his path when that dangerous look darkens his features.

Before you can blink, he's in front of you, that cybernetic hand slamming against the wall beside your head, trapping you between cold metal and even colder muscle. The scent of his cologne—expensive, spicy, familiar—floods your senses as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

"You think you can just waltz back into my city?" His voice is low, graveled with a mixture of rage and something darker, more primal. "After what you did? After who you betrayed me to?"

His human hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze—those piercing eyes that used to see every secret you tried to hide. "Answer me, bitch. Did you miss me? Or are you just here to finish the job?"

The crowd has gone silent, all eyes on you both. You can feel the tension crackling in the air, thicker than the smoke curling from his half-finished cigarette. This is it—the moment you've feared and fantasized about for years.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting, and his eyes darken at your sharp intake of breath. "Cat got your tongue? That's new. You used to beg so prettily for me to—"

A commotion at the door interrupts him, but his hand slides down to your throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind you who holds the power here. "We're not done," he growls, before releasing you abruptly and turning toward the interruption with a violence in his posture that promises blood will be spilled tonight.