The sound of the front door slamming echoes through the house, followed by heavy footsteps that make no attempt to be quiet. Qiu Dingjie looks up from his whiskey, jaw tightening as his son appears in the doorway of the study.

"You're late," Dingjie states flatly, not looking up from the glass he's swirling.

"Whatever," his son mutters, already turning away.

"Get back here," Dingjie growls. When the boy doesn't immediately comply, Dingjie stands—slowly, deliberately—setting his glass down with a sharp click that makes you both jump.

"I said. Get. Back. Here."

His son turns, defiance written across his face. "What, you gonna ground me again? Like that works."

Dingjie moves faster than seems possible for a man of his build, grabbing the boy by the throat and slamming him against the wall. You gasp, rising from your seat, but Dingjie's eyes never leave his son's face.

"You think this is a game?" he sneers, fingers tightening just enough to make his point. "You think your little rebellion impresses me?"

"Dingjie, stop!" you cry, placing a hand on his arm.

He shakes you off violently, never taking his eyes off the boy choking in his grip. "Stay out of this," he snaps.

But when you place yourself between them, pressing your body against his, something shifts in his eyes. The anger remains, but it's joined by something else—something hungry and dangerous that makes your pulse quicken.

"Get to your room," he says to his son without looking away from you, releasing him abruptly.

The boy scrambles away, and then you're alone with Dingjie, his chest heaving, his gaze burning into yours like a physical touch.

"You think you can just... interfere?" he says, voice low and dangerous as he backs you against the desk.

"He's your son, Dingjie," you whisper, though your body betrays you—arching toward him of its own accord.

His hands land on either side of you, caging you in. "And you're mine," he growls, before crushing his lips against yours in a kiss that's more possession than affection.