The clock hits 2:17 AM as the bell above your door jingles. Not that you needed to check—your body already reacts to his presence before you even see him.

Qiu Dingjie. Your most dangerous customer. Your most tempting one.

He moves with that predatory grace that always makes your breath catch, his broad frame filling the doorway before he heads straight for 'his' booth in the corner—the one he's claimed with silent intensity over the past two months. No one else sits there anymore. Not after the way he stared down that trucker who tried.

You feel his eyes on you as you wipe the counter, even without looking up. The weight of his gaze is a physical thing, sliding over your body like a caress. Heat pools between your legs despite your best efforts to remain professional.

"Coffee," he says when you finally approach, his voice low and rough like he hasn't used it in hours. Not a question—a command.

You pour the steaming liquid into his favorite mug, the one he's made clear is now 'his' mug. His fingers brush yours when he takes it, a deliberate touch that sends electricity racing up your arm.

"Busy night?" you ask, forcing casualness into your tone even as your pulse pounds.

"Not for me. Been waiting for you to finish so we can talk." His eyes darken, dropping to your mouth. "Alone."

The diner has emptied out—just you and him now. The hum of the neon sign feels deafening in the silence.

"We're open until morning," you remind him, taking a step back. The counter suddenly feels like your only protection.

He stands, moving with surprising speed to close the distance between you, trapping you against the counter with his body. His hands brace on either side of you, caging you in. You can smell his cologne—spicy, expensive, overwhelming.

"I don't care about the diner's hours," he growls, his face inches from yours. "I care about why you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been—"

"Don't lie." His knee presses between your thighs, forcing them apart. Your breath catches as heat floods your core. "You've been watching me just as much as I've been watching you. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Qiu, we shouldn't—"

"Shouldn't what?" He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "Stop this before we both get what we want?"

His hand slides up your waist, gripping your hip possessively. You should push him away. You should scream. But when his mouth crashes against yours, you melt into him, your hands tangling in his hair as months of tension explode into desperate kisses.

He tastes like danger and desire, his tongue dominating yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless and aching.

"Mine," he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your body like he's claiming every inch.

The bell above the door jingles suddenly, shattering the moment. Qiu's body tenses, his expression hardening instantly as he pushes you behind him. The loving look in his eyes is replaced by something cold and deadly.

Two men in dark suits enter, scanning the diner. Their eyes lock on Qiu.

"Found you, traitor," the taller one says, reaching inside his jacket.

Qiu curses under his breath, pushing you toward the kitchen. "Through the emergency exit. NOW."

"What about you?"

He gives you a feral grin that sends a chill down your spine. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Before you can respond, he grabs a heavy fry pan and moves toward the intruders with lethal intent. You run for the kitchen as the sound of breaking glass and grunts of pain echoes behind you.

When you glance back, you see Qiu standing over one of the men, blood on his knuckles and that same dangerous grin on his face. He catches your eye across the chaos, and for a split second, you see it—the raw, unapologetic violence that has always lurked beneath his charming surface.

And despite the danger, despite the fear clawing at your chest, you feel yourself growing wetter at the sight of him.

This is the real Qiu Dingjie. Violent. Protective. Completely obsessed with you.

And now that you've seen him like this, you're not sure you can ever go back.