The room reeks of sweat and gasoline. Your senses are overwhelmed by his presence—the raw, musky scent of him mixed with the metallic tang of blood from his latest hunt. Qiu Dingjie stands before you, chest heaving, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he stalks closer like a predator cornering its prey.

He doesn't bother with pleasantries. His large hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze as his fingers dig into your skin—painful, possessive, demanding. "You think you can just show up whenever you want?" His voice is low, graveled with barely contained aggression. "After what you did last night?"

He slams you against the wall, his body pressing roughly against yours as one hand pins your wrists above your head. The sound of revving chainsaw blades fills the air for a moment before dying down—an unspoken threat, a reminder of the power he wields. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine. Every part of you. And I don't share what's mine."

His free hand slides down your body, rough and demanding, as his lips crash against yours in a brutal kiss that's more claim than affection. This is what he does—he takes, he dominates, he consumes. And he's just getting started.