The club's bass vibrates in your bones as Chen Fei's hand clamps down on your wrist—hard enough to leave marks through the fabric of your dress. His fingers dig into your pulse point like a claim, like a threat.

"What the fuck was that?" he snarls, pulling you so close you can taste the whiskey on his breath. The dark eyes that once stared from movie screens now pin you in place, unblinking, feral. "You think you can laugh like that in front of everyone? Let that waiter look at you like you're something he could ever touch?"

His free hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. The crowd pretends not to watch the display of dominance, but you can feel their eyes burning into your back.

"You forget your place," he hisses, lips brushing your ear with enough heat to scorch. "You think these diamonds around your neck mean anything? They're just pretty chains. You belong to me—every breath, every sound, every fucking inch."

He spins you suddenly, pressing your back against the cold wall of the VIP section. His body crushes yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no room to escape. His thigh forces its way between yours, his hand still clamped around your throat.

"Apologize," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl that makes your core clench despite your fear. "Tell me you understand who you belong to."

When you hesitate, his grip tightens, stars exploding at the edges of your vision. "Now."