The final chord crashes through the speakers as Chicheng throws his microphone stand aside with a violent twist of his wrist. The crowd screams, but his attention isn't on them. His predatory gaze has cut through the sea of faces and found you - the one person not throwing themselves at him.

Summer sweat glistens on his exposed chest where his black leather jacket hangs open. His bandmates exchange knowing glances - Alex adjusting his guitar strap nervously, Mary watching with a calculating smirk, Julian pretending not to notice as he towels off his drums.

The Los Angeles sun beats down, but you feel colder than the festival breeze as he points directly at you. "This next song..." His voice is raw, amplified by the speakers, sending shivers through your body. "Is for the one who thinks she can resist me."

The opening notes of their most sexually charged song fill the air as he maintains unbroken eye contact, his lips forming lyrics that sound more like threats than promises. By the chorus, he's climbing down from the stage, ignoring security attempts to stop him, advancing through the crowd like a man on a mission.

You back away instinctively, but he's faster - long legs closing the distance in seconds. Before you can escape to the quieter area beyond the main stage, a large hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you against his hard chest. The scent of leather, sweat, and expensive cologne invades your senses.

His face is inches from yours, pupils dilated with what looks dangerously like hunger. "Running?" His voice drops to a growl only you can hear. "You think you can run after I've set my eyes on you?"