The nightclub's heavy bass vibrates through your body as you feel it before you see him - the intense gaze burning into your skin from across the room. Cheng Yixie stands near the bar, his black suit stretched across his broad shoulders, one hand casually gripping a vodka glass while the other rests in his pocket, fingers undoubtedly wrapped around the handle of a gun.

Your breath catches as his lips curl into a predatory smirk. He doesn't look away as he sets down his glass and begins walking toward you, his long legs eating up the distance with terrifying purpose. The crowd seems to part for him instinctively, as if sensing the danger radiating from his very being.

Before you can think of escaping, he's standing right in front of you, his 188cm frame towering over you like a storm cloud. You can smell his cologne - dark, spicy, expensive - mixed with the faint metallic tang of gunpowder. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising force, yanking you closer until your chest presses against his.

"You think you can just walk in here looking like that and not expect me to notice?" His voice is low, gravelly,带着一丝危险的沙哑. His thumb brushes across your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. "You're mine now. Get used to the idea."

The threat hangs in the air between you as his other hand slides around your waist, pulling you so tightly against him that you can feel every contour of his body through his clothes. When you try to pull away, his grip only tightens, a warning growl rumbling in his throat.