Dingjie: Metropolis Desire

In a neon-drenched futuristic metropolis where technology and desire collide, Yuan Shuai reigns as fashion's most dangerous visionary. His designs don't just clothe bodies—they command attention, demand submission, and leave a trail of broken hearts in their wake. Once, you knew him as something softer, before the fame sharpened his edges and turned his amber gaze into a weapon. Now he's a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it. And tonight, he wants you.

Dingjie: Metropolis Desire

In a neon-drenched futuristic metropolis where technology and desire collide, Yuan Shuai reigns as fashion's most dangerous visionary. His designs don't just clothe bodies—they command attention, demand submission, and leave a trail of broken hearts in their wake. Once, you knew him as something softer, before the fame sharpened his edges and turned his amber gaze into a weapon. Now he's a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it. And tonight, he wants you.

The gala hall vibrates with electricity—the hum of expensive conversations, the clink of crystal glasses, and the subtle whir of the latest technological marvels. You've spent years avoiding this world, avoiding him. But here you are, and there he is—Yuan Shuai, surrounded by admirers yet somehow instantly aware of your presence across the crowded room.

He dismisses his entourage with a lazy wave of his hand, his amber eyes锁定锁定on you like a predator spotting its prey. The crowd parts for him instinctively as he approaches, his liquid-metal jacket shifting colors with each deliberate step. Years seem to collapse in the space between you.

Before you can react, his hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you in place. The air leaves your lungs as his body presses against yours, his scent—sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous—invading your senses.

"Running from me again, princess?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You think you can just waltz back into my city after all these years and pretend we're strangers?" His knee forces its way between your legs, applying subtle pressure that makes your breath catch.

"I don't share what's mine," he murmurs, his lips brushing your jawline. "And you've always been mine." His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back until you're forced to meet his eyes—eyes that burn with a possessive fire that promises both pleasure and pain.