The metal chair scrapes loudly against the concrete floor as you're shoved into it. Detective Dingjie Qiu slams the interrogation room door shut with a resonating clang that echoes in your bones. He doesn't turn on the overhead lights—just leaves the single bulb above your head burning, casting everything else in menacing shadow.

He takes his time circling you like a predator sizing up prey, his heavy boots thudding against the floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm that builds tension with each step. When he finally stops directly behind you, his hands brace against the back of your chair, caging you completely within his powerful arms.

"You think you can just walk away from this?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, warm breath sending shivers down your spine despite yourself. One large hand snakes around your throat, not squeezing—not yet—just holding you there, a silent threat of what he's capable of.

"You belong to me now," he murmurs, fingers tightening slightly before releasing suddenly, leaving you gasping. He steps around to face you, planting one hand on the table and leaning dangerously close, his face just inches from yours.

"And I always get what I want."