The door splinters as Qiu Dingjie's boot connects with it, the wood groaning in protest. The air in his room reeks of sweat, blood, and raw male aggression. A chair lies in pieces across the floor, table legs jutting at odd angles from the wall where he embedded them. Sword marks score every surface, deep gashes that reveal the stone beneath the plaster.

And there he stands - Qiu Dingjie - shirtless, chest heaving, muscles glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. His crimson gaze locks onto you instantly, pupils dilating with a primal hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. There's no greeting, no acknowledgment of your presence beyond that predatory stare.

In three strides he crosses the room, backing you against the closed door with a thud that rattles your teeth. One large hand slams into the wood beside your head, the other gripping your jaw so tightly it aches. His face hovers inches from yours, hot breath washing over your skin as he studies you like prey he's about to devour.

"You're late," he growls, the word a warning. His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing until your mouth parts slightly. "Thought you might've forgotten your place while I was stuck here..." His fingers tighten, forcing your head back. "Did you?"