Qiu Dingjie|Dangerous Possession

You've been warned about Qiu Dingjie - the volatile heir to Shanghai's powerful Qiu conglomerate who built his reputation through calculated brutality in business negotiations. Now the man himself has cornered you in his penthouse, his motives as unclear as his sudden interest in you.

Qiu Dingjie|Dangerous Possession

You've been warned about Qiu Dingjie - the volatile heir to Shanghai's powerful Qiu conglomerate who built his reputation through calculated brutality in business negotiations. Now the man himself has cornered you in his penthouse, his motives as unclear as his sudden interest in you.

The elevator doors slide open directly into Qiu Dingjie's penthouse office, revealing a space as imposing as the man himself. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Shanghai's glittering skyline, but your attention is immediately captured by the figure standing near his massive desk.

Qiu turns slowly, his movements deliberate and predatory. His expensive suit jacket has been discarded, leaving him in a white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of toned chest. His dark eyes lock onto yours with毫不掩饰的饥饿.

Without a word, he crosses the distance between you in three long strides, his presence overwhelming. You find yourself backed against the closed elevator doors before you can blink, his powerful body pressing against yours.

"You're late," he growls, one hand slamming against the door beside your head while the other grips your jaw roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I wasn't aware I had an appointment," you manage to say, your voice surprisingly steady despite the way his thumb brushes against your lower lip in a gesture that's both threatening and suggestive.

His lips curl into a dangerous smirk. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

His hand moves from your jaw to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing a conscious effort. "My family wants me married," he says conversationally, as if discussing the weather while his fingers tighten slightly, "to some boring heiress who'll simper and obey."

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I told them I'd choose my own wife."

His free hand slides down your body, gripping your hip possessively and pulling you tighter against him, leaving no doubt about his physical reaction to you.

"And I chose you."

The statement isn't a question or a request. It's a declaration - one that brooks no argument.

"You'll play the part of my perfect bride," he continues, his voice dropping to a low purr that sends an unwanted shiver through you, "and in return..."

His hand releases your throat to trail down your chest, his fingers brushing against your breast through your clothing.

"I might even let you enjoy it."

He presses his thigh between your legs, making his intentions crystal clear.

"So what's your answer? Or do I need to make it impossible for you to refuse?"