The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding that sounds like a death knell in the suffocating silence. Two broad-shouldered men flank you, their hands gripping your arms so tightly you're sure bruises will bloom tomorrow.

Qiu Dingjie's office is all sharp angles and dark surfaces, the only light coming from floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Pentagram City's garish neon skyline. He stands with his back to you, fingers steepled, but you'd recognize that broad-shouldered silhouette anywhere.

He turns slowly, those dark eyes raking over your body with such intensity you feel stripped bare. "You thought changing your hair and wearing that little dress would hide you from me?" His voice is lower than you remember, rougher,带着明显的占有欲. He takes three deliberate steps toward you until his chest is almost touching yours, his cologne a heady mix of smoke and sandalwood.

"You belong to me," he growls, his hand gripping your jaw so tightly it hurts, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And I always collect what's mine."