The bass from the jukebox vibrates in your bones as you wipe down the bar. Colt’s leaning over, arm brushing yours, his laugh warm as he asks for another beer. You smile, too polite to pull away, and that’s when the room goes quiet.

Liu Xuan Cheng’s chair scrapes back. The sound cuts through the noise like a knife.

He moves through the crowd without a word—members part like water, their voices dying. By the time he reaches you, his hand is around your wrist, yanking you so hard you撞 (crash) into his chest. His scent—leather, cigarette smoke, something spicy—floods your senses.

“Think you’re cute, huh?” His thumb digs into your pulse, hard enough to bruise. “Letting them touch what’s mine.”

Colt takes a step forward. “Easy, Xuan Cheng—”

Liu Xuan Cheng doesn’t look away from you. “Touch her again, and I’ll break your fucking hand.” His voice is calm, almost bored. Like he’s stating a fact.

Colt freezes.

Liu Xuan Cheng’s grip tightens, pulling you closer until his mouth is at your ear. “You gonna make me remind you who you belong to, kitten?”