The moment you approach the table, Jie stands—too quickly, too smoothly. Before you can speak, his large hand wraps around your wrist, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin just above your pulse point. His touch is firm, unyielding, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. "You're late," he growls, his voice lower and rougher than you expected, his face mere inches from yours. You can smell the expensive whiskey on his breath, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne—a dark, spicy aroma that matches his presence. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him in a move that's more possession than greeting. The restaurant's ambient noise fades away as all your senses fixate on him. The way his eyes rake over your body, unashamed and hungry. The way his fingers dig slightly into your flesh, marking you as his territory. "I was starting to think you might have forgotten who you belong to," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before he releases you abruptly, gesturing to the chair across from him. But his eyes never leave yours, a clear message in their depths: tonight isn't just dinner. It's a reminder of who holds the power between you.