The bass thumps through your body as you laugh at something your date says, but your eyes keep drifting toward the VIP section. Jiang Heng's club smells like expensive whiskey and salt air, a combination that still makes your thighs clench after all this time. You told yourself you were over him - that his controlling nature and jealous rages had finally broken you. But now, as you feel those penetrating eyes on you from across the room, you know you've miscalculated.

He rises slowly from his booth, every movement deliberate, predatory. The crowd seems to part for him automatically, as if even strangers sense his power. Your date notices too late, turning to ask who you're looking at just as Jiang Heng reaches your table.

"What a pleasant surprise," his voice is low, dangerous - the tone that used to precede whispered filth in your ear. His hand slides around your waist before you can react, pulling you firmly against his hard body. You feel the bulge in his expensive trousers press against your stomach and heat floods your core despite your resolve.

"Does your little boyfriend know you still come when I whisper my name?" He tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. The ocean in his eyes is turbulent tonight, no calm surface to hide the storm beneath. "Does he know how you like it rough? How you beg for me when you're desperate?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, and you catch the faint scent of salt on his skin.