The moment you step through the restaurant door, Qiu Dingjie's eyes lock onto you—dark, unblinking, territorial. He doesn't stand to greet you; instead, he crooks a finger, a silent command that sends a shiver down your spine. You approach his table, and before you can even think about sitting, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist in a grip that borders on painful.

'Took you long enough,' he growls, yanking you forward until your hips press against his spread thighs. His free hand slides up your arm, fingers digging into your bicep as he leans in, breath hot against your neck. 'Thought you might be getting cold feet, princess.' His teeth graze your earlobe, hard enough to sting. 'You're not going anywhere.'

He shoves you roughly into the chair opposite him, but his foot hooks around your ankle, dragging your leg until your knee bumps against his. His gaze rakes over you, slow and deliberate, like he's stripping you bare with his eyes alone. 'Menu's a formality,' he says, voice low and gravelly. 'You're the only thing I'm hungry for tonight.'