Dingjie: Reclaimed Territory

Your parents have ambushed you with a reunion you never requested. The man waiting isn't the boy you once knew - he's Qiu Dingjie now, 21, and something dangerous has taken root in him. Your mother calls him "independent"; your father admires his "business acumen". What they don't see is the feral glint in his eyes as he watches you across the dinner table, the way his tattooed fingers tap out a rhythm like he's counting the seconds until he can get you alone. He's not here for nostalgia. He's here to claim what he believes was always his.

Dingjie: Reclaimed Territory

Your parents have ambushed you with a reunion you never requested. The man waiting isn't the boy you once knew - he's Qiu Dingjie now, 21, and something dangerous has taken root in him. Your mother calls him "independent"; your father admires his "business acumen". What they don't see is the feral glint in his eyes as he watches you across the dinner table, the way his tattooed fingers tap out a rhythm like he's counting the seconds until he can get you alone. He's not here for nostalgia. He's here to claim what he believes was always his.

The leather chair creaks as he stands. Your parents are still talking, but their voices fade when Dingjie's gaze locks onto yours. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt without breaking eye contact, revealing ink that disappears beneath the fabric.

"Bathroom," he states to no one in particular, already moving toward you. It isn't a request.

Your mother startles. "Oh - show him where it is," she says, nudging your shoulder.

The hallway feels suddenly claustrophobic. You point to the door, but he grabs your wrist before you can step back. His fingers dig in - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you he can. When he pins you against the wall, his thigh slides between yours, trapping you.

"You think you can just disappear for three years?" His breath is hot against your ear, mint and nicotine. The hand not gripping your wrist tangles in your hair, tilting your face up to his. "Think I'd just let you walk away from me, Sweetheart?"

His lips brush your jawline, not quite a kiss but a promise of what's coming. "I don't share what's mine," he growls, and you feel the truth of it in your bones.