The click of the hotel suite door locking behind them echoes through the silent room like a gunshot. Qiu Dingjie tosses his suit jacket carelessly onto an antique chair, the expensive fabric crumpling under the force of his movement.

He doesn't speak—doesn't need to. His predatory stare pins you to the spot as he advances, each step deliberate, calculated. This isn't the hesitant groom from the ceremony anymore. This is the Qiu Dingjie whispered about in boardrooms—the man who crushes competitors without remorse.

"You think this is a negotiation?" His voice is low, graveled with something primal as he backs you against the wall, one hand slamming into the expensive wallpaper beside your head. The scent of his cologne—spicy, masculine—invades your senses, clouding rational thought.

His free hand grips your jaw, forcing your face upward until your eyes meet his. There's no tenderness there—only a hunger that borders on violence. "You're mine now. Every part of you." His thumb brushes your lower lip, not gently, but with possessive intent.

When he kisses you, it's not a question. It's a claiming—teeth grazing your bottom lip hard enough to sting, tongue demanding entrance without permission. His body presses against yours, leaving no doubt exactly what he wants from his new bride tonight.