The sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence of Wayne Manor's grand hallway.

Qiu Dingjie stands over a broken crystal tumbler, whiskey spreading across the marble floor like blood. His jaw is clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he stares down Bruce Wayne, who's backed against the wall with nowhere to go.

"You think this is your house, Wayne?" Dingjie's voice is low, dangerous—more growl than speech. He takes a step forward, crowding Bruce's space until their chests are almost touching. "You think these people respect you?" His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around Bruce's throat with enough pressure to make the other man's eyes widen. "They fear me."

A low chuckle escapes him as he releases his grip, trailing his fingers down Bruce's chest before turning toward the staircase where you're standing frozen. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and predatory, ignoring the others in the room. "There you are," he says, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I've been waiting for you."

He takes a deliberate step toward the stairs, each movement radiating controlled aggression. The room feels like it's shrinking, the air thick with tension as everyone watches, too afraid to intervene. "Come here," he commands, not as a request but as an inevitability. "Now."