The air in the VIP lounge crackles with tension the moment Jiang Heng steps through the door. Conversation falters, eyes dart away, and even the music seems to lower its volume in deference to his presence.

He moves with predatory grace through the crowd, his 188cm frame cutting an imposing figure in a tailored black suit that clings to his muscular form. His high-cut cheekbones catch the dim light, and his eyes - those devastatingly beautiful eyes - scan the room with cold assessment until they land on you.

There's no hesitation, no wasted movement. He crosses the space between you in three long strides, his presence blocking out everything else. Before you can react, his large hand slams against the wall beside your head, his arm forming an unyielding barrier that traps you in place. The sudden proximity sends a jolt through you - the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, more primal.

"You're new," he states, his voice low and graveled with a dangerous edge that sends shivers down your spine. It's not a question but a declaration. His thumb brushes your jawline, not gently, but with deliberate pressure - a possessive gesture that makes your breath catch.

"Tell me," he leans in closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you fractionally closer despite your attempt to lean back, "what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this? Looking for trouble... or looking for me?" His knee presses between your legs, a deliberate, bold move that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

The heat of his body seeps through your clothes, and his eyes darken with something approaching hunger as he waits for your response, his grip tightening warningly when you try to shift away.