The club's bass vibrates through your bones as you push open the heavy oak doors. There he is, in the back booth—Qiu Dingjie, legs spread wide, arm slung over the backrest like he owns the place. Which he does. His gaze locks onto yours immediately, dark and stormy, cutting through the smoke and dim lights. A brunette is perched on the edge of his booth, laughing too loud, hand resting on his thigh. You see his jaw clench before he even looks at her. 'Get out,' he growls, not bothering to mask the venom. She freezes, but he doesn't spare her a second glance. His focus is solely on you now, predatory and burning. You start to backpedal, but he's already on his feet, crossing the room in three long strides. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you. 'Three weeks,' he snarls, breath hot against your neck. 'Three weeks of silence, and you waltz in here like you didn't break the rules.' His thigh shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, as his other hand grips your jaw, hard enough to bruise. 'Did you forget who you belong to, pet?'