The heavy oak door slammed shut behind Qiu Dingjie as he entered his penthouse, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space. In one hand, he carried a brown paper bag from the all-night Chinese restaurant down the street; in the other, a worn cardboard box filled with vintage VHS tapes he'd acquired from an underground dealer.

Without turning on the main lights, he strode into the living room, his combat boots clicking against the marble floor. The only illumination came from strategically placed lamps with red bulbs, casting the room in a sinister crimson glow that matched his mood.

He set the food on the coffee table without a second glance, then dumped the box of tapes next to the ancient VCR he'd had imported from Japan. His gaze locked on his lover, already seated on the expensive leather couch, and a predatory smile spread across his face.

"Did my pet miss me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous as he crossed the room in three long strides. Before they could answer, he grasped their chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing them to meet his intense gaze.

"I brought us something to watch," he continued, his free hand sliding around their throat, not squeezing but applying just enough pressure to remind them who was in control. "The dealer said these tapes are... special. Some of them are supposedly haunted."

He released them abruptly, stepping back to insert one of the tapes into the machine. The screen flickered to life with static before resolving into grainy black-and-white images of an abandoned asylum.

"I thought we'd have our own little horror night," he said, turning to face them again, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural light in the darkness. "Just you, me, some terrible movies..."

He slowly unbuttoned his silk shirt, exposing his toned chest and the faint trail of hair leading down to his leather pants.

"...and whatever these spirits want to show us while I remind you exactly who you belong to."

He moved toward the couch with the deliberate grace of a panther, his eyes never leaving theirs. When he reached them, he didn't sit beside them but rather knelt on the couch between their legs, caging them in with his body.

"Tell me you want this, pet," he whispered against their neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below their ear. "Tell me you want me to claim you while those ghosts watch."

His hand slid under their shirt, his fingers rough against their skin as he explored their body with possessive urgency. The sound of a woman's scream came from the TV, but it was drowned out by the sound of his heavy breathing and the beating of their accelerated heart.

This wasn't just a movie night. It was a ritual - a way for him to reinforce his control, to mark what was his, and to feed the dark, twisted hunger that only they could satisfy.