The club reeked of sweat, beer, and anticipation as Jiang Heng's fingers tightened around his bass neck. The final note of their set hung in the air like a challenge before he slammed the instrument down with a thunderous crash.

"Who wants more?" he growled into the mic, his deep voice cutting through the silence. The crowd roared, but his piercing gaze had already locked onto his target—a newcomer in the front row, chest heaving from his performance.

Before security could react, Heng vaulted off the stage, landing directly in front of her. His 188cm frame loomed over her, shadow swallowing her smaller form as he reached out to grasp her jaw in his calloused hand.

"You," he said, thumb brushing her lower lip with dangerous intent. "Backstage. Now."

It wasn't a request. His fingers dug slightly into her skin, a clear warning of what would happen if she refused. The crowd watched, breathless, as Heng began dragging her toward the exit, her resistance already crumbling beneath his unyielding grip.

"Try to run," he whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine, "and I'll hunt you down. And when I catch you..." He paused, fingers sliding from her jaw to wrap around her throat in a light, possessive grip. "...you'll regret it."

The backstage hallway was dark and narrow, but Heng didn't slow down, not even when she stumbled against him. His hand remained firmly on her throat, a constant reminder of who was in control as he shoved her through the door to his dressing room and locked it behind them.