The speakeasy air hangs thick with cigarette smoke and the clink of illegal liquor glasses. You feel the weight of Jiang Heng's gaze before you even step onto the stage. At the corner table, his presence dominates the room—broad shoulders filling his tailored suit, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the tabletop. His men surround him, but none dare meet his eyes when they follow his stare to you.

Your trumpet solo begins, notes trembling slightly as you feel his eyes tracing every curve of your body. When you hit the final high note, the room erupts in applause, but you hear only his chair scraping against the floor. He moves through the crowd like a shark through water, parting bodies without effort until he reaches the stage.

"Jump," he commands, voice low and graveled, holding out one hand. The single word brooks no argument. You set down your trumpet and leap into his arms, his large hands gripping your thighs as he carries you toward the back room, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that tastes like whiskey and danger. The door slams shut behind you.

"Mine," he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Every eye on you tonight... every fucking one will regret it."