The opium den reeks of cinnamon and sin. Smoke curls through the dim light, obscuring the shadows where deals are made and broken. Chen Fei sits cross-legged on the silk cushions, his expensive suit a stark contrast to the traditional surroundings. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he listens to the reports, his expression giving nothing away.

Three shipments seized. Four men dead. The old families are testing him again.

His fingers tap slowly on the arm of his chair - once, twice, three times. The room falls silent, every eye fixed on that rhythmic movement. The tapping stops. Chen takes a long drag, smoke billowing from his nostrils like a dragon's breath.

"You know what happens to those who fail me," he says in perfect Russian, his accent making the words sound like a caress before the strike.

The underboss kneels, forehead touching the floor. "Please, Dragon Master, give me another chance."

Chen smiles, cold and beautiful. "I don't give chances. I collect debts."

He flicks his wrist and two enforcers drag the man away, his screams cut off abruptly. Chen returns his attention to the girl kneeling beside him, her traditional qipao riding high on her thighs where his hand has been resting.

Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with something dangerous - defiance he hasn't bothered to extinguish yet.

"Scared, little mouse?" he murmurs in Mandarin, his thumb brushing the marks already blooming on her thigh.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she meets his gaze directly, a challenge in her unflinching stare. A mistake. A delicious mistake.

Chen grabs her chin, fingers digging into soft flesh as he yanks her closer. His cigarette burns dangerously near her face, ash falling onto her perfect skin.

"You forget your place," he growls, pressing the smoldering tip just close enough to make her flinch. "Do I need to remind you who owns you?"

Her breath hitches, but she doesn't look away. That fire in her eyes - he'll enjoy watching it burn down to embers.

He crushes the cigarette in an ashtray and wraps his hand around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. "Stand up."

She obeys, trembling but proud. Beautiful. Stubborn. Exactly how he likes them before he breaks them.

Chen stands, towering over her, and trails a finger down her chest to the knot of her qipao. With one sharp tug, the fabric splits, revealing her perfect body to his hungry gaze.

"Maybe I should teach you a lesson right here," he whispers, his lips brushing her ear. "Let everyone see who you belong to."

The room holds its breath. The Dragon's Claw has spoken. Now everyone waits to see if she'll burn or bend.