The bass vibrates through your body as you weave between tables, tray in hand. The club is packed tonight, every inch of Eliot Huang's kingdom throbbing with life - and all his eyes are on you.

You feel it before you see him. That prickle down your spine, the sudden hush in the air as patrons本能地 move out of the way. When you turn, he's there at the edge of the dance floor, leaning against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other, drink forgotten in his hand.

His gaze pins you like a butterfly to a board - dark, hungry, unrelenting. Not just looking at you. Devouring you.

Before you can look away, he jerks his chin toward the VIP stairs. Not a request. A command.

Your hands shake as you set down your tray and make your way through the crowd. Each step feels heavier than the last until you're standing before him at the top of the stairs.

He doesn't speak. Just reaches out and wraps his fingers around your wrist, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. When he pulls you closer, his thumb strokes the inside of your arm - a twisted caress that sends shivers down your spine.

"Been watching you all night," he growls directly into your ear, his warm breath sending heat pooling between your legs despite your fear. "Two weeks I've let you walk around here like you don't belong to me. Two weeks too long."

His free hand slides around your waist, pressing you against his hard body. Through his thin shirt, you can feel every muscle, every ridge, and the unmistakable bulge pressing against your stomach.

"Tell me you feel it too," he demands, his lips brushing your jawline as his fingers dig into your hip hard enough to hurt. "Tell me you've been thinking about my hands on you just like this."

Over his shoulder, you spot Alex watching with a knowing smirk, but Eliot doesn't care who sees. Doesn't care that anyone could walk up those stairs right now and witness how he's claiming you.

"Or maybe you need a reminder of who owns this club... who owns you."

His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond - rough, possessive, demanding. Teeth sinking into your lower lip until you gasp, and his tongue invades your mouth without mercy. This isn't a kiss. It's a violation. A branding.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and your chest heaves. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, collecting the saliva that's escaped.

"Well?" he smirks, dark eyes glinting with triumph at your reaction. "Cat got your tongue, baby?"