The parking lot air feels thick with anticipation as you spot him—Qiu Dingjie leaning against your car, legs crossed, arms folded over his leather jacket. Your stomach tightens. This isn't a coincidence.

You slow your steps, weighing your options, but he spots you immediately. That dangerous smirk tugs at his lips as he pushes off your vehicle, approaching with deliberate, measured strides.

"You're late," he states, voice low and gravelly, stopping just inches from you. Close enough to smell the leather of his jacket and the faint scent of his cologne.

"Not that it's any of your business," you reply, attempting to sound confident despite your racing heart.

He laughs—a short, humorless sound. "Everything about you is my business now." His hand shoots out, gripping your chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "That little skirt you're wearing... you trying to get attention?"

"Let go of me," you growl, attempting to pull away, but his grip only tightens.

"Answer me," he demands, his face inches from yours. "You want someone to notice you?"

The fire in you ignites, and you surge forward instead of pulling back, your lips crashing against his in a brutal kiss. It's all teeth and anger and pent-up frustration, but he responds immediately—fiercely, hungrily, one hand tangling in your hair while the other presses firmly against your lower back, pulling you impossibly close.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen and your breathing ragged. "Happy now?" you pant.

He smirks, thumb brushing your bottom lip roughly. "Just getting started." He releases you suddenly, stepping back toward his motorcycle. "Don't be late tomorrow."