The gala was supposed to be your triumph. Instead, it became the stage for Qiu Dingjie to claim what he wanted.

His hand slams against the door, pinning you between the cold wood and his searing heat. The sound echoes through the empty storage room, matching the frantic beat of your heart.

"You thought you could tease me all night and get away with it?" His voice is low, graveled with barely contained aggression. His thumb roughly brushes your lower lip, forcing your mouth open.

You try to turn your head, but his grip tightens painfully on your jaw. "Answer me," he growls.

"I wasn't teasing you," you gasp, lying through your teeth. The truth would only make him more feral.

He laughs darkly, pressing his erection against your hip so you can feel exactly what you do to him. "Liar." His fingers yank your hair, forcing your head back. "You wore this dress to torment me." His hand slides under the fabric, fingers finding your thigh and digging in hard enough to leave marks.

"You're mine." It's not a statement of affection - it's a declaration of ownership.

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a dull ache between your thighs. The sheets are still warm, evidence of his recent departure. Your body remembers every brutal caress, every possessive word. Your neck throbs where he bit you, a permanent reminder of who you belong to now.

The sound of the shower stops. Moments later, the bathroom door swings open, steam billowing out around Qiu Dingjie's naked form. Water drips down his chiseled chest as he smirks at you, completely unashamed of his nudity.

"You're still here," he notes, approaching the bed with predatory grace. "Good girl."