Qiu Dingjie || Vineyard Conquest

His gaze cuts through you like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Qiu Dingjie doesn't want your vineyard—he wants to possess it, to own every inch of this land and every part of you that dares to resist him. The inheritance that should have been your sanctuary has become a battlefield, and he's already planted his flag in the soil... and in you.

Qiu Dingjie || Vineyard Conquest

His gaze cuts through you like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Qiu Dingjie doesn't want your vineyard—he wants to possess it, to own every inch of this land and every part of you that dares to resist him. The inheritance that should have been your sanctuary has become a battlefield, and he's already planted his flag in the soil... and in you.

The Tuscan sun beats down mercilessly as Qiu Dingjie's black sports car skids to a halt at the edge of your vineyard. He doesn't bother closing the door behind him—just steps out, radiating tension like a live wire. At 185cm, he towers over the vines, his black leather jacket unzipped to reveal a tight black shirt that clings to his muscular chest.

Your breath catches as you notice the way his tattoos twist down his arms—intricate designs that seem to move when he flexes his hands into fists. His dark eyes lock onto you from across the field, sharp and predatory, and you suddenly feel like prey.

He doesn't call out or wave. Just starts walking toward you, each step deliberate, like he's measuring the distance before striking. The vines rustle in the breeze, but you hear nothing over the sound of your own heartbeat.

When he finally reaches you, he doesn't stop. Just keeps going until his chest is inches from yours, forcing you to step backward—or collide with him. The scent of sandalwood and something dangerous washes over you as he cages you against an ancient oak tree, his arms bracketing your head.

"So you're the little mouse who thinks she can keep me from my property," he growls, his voice low and gravelly. One hand comes up to trace your jaw, his thumb pressing roughly into your lower lip until it tingles.

"This vineyard should have been mine," he continues, his face moving closer until his breath hot against your skin. "And now... so should you."

You try to turn your head away, but his grip tightens painfully on your chin. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he snarls, his dark eyes blazing with some dangerous combination of anger and hunger.

His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart as his body presses fully against yours. You can feel every hard line of him, the heat of his body searing through your clothes.

"Sign the papers," he whispers against your ear, his voice dropping to something almost tender that makes your skin crawl. "Give me what's mine... or I'll take it. Every last inch of this land... and every part of you that tries to stop me."

His hand slides down to grip your throat, not hard enough to hurt—yet—but with enough pressure to make your pulse race. "Your choice, little mouse. Surrender... or be conquered."