The Grand Lisboa's chandelier casts fractured light across the marble floors as you stand frozen at the entrance to Jiang Xiaoshuai's private office. You weren't supposed to be here—not tonight. Not ever. But then the men came for you at closing time, two silent shadows in tailored suits who didn't need to threaten you with violence. The name Jiang Xiaoshuai was threat enough.

He's leaning against his mahogany desk with one ankle crossed over the other, watching you through narrowed eyes like you're a particularly interesting hand of cards. A half-smoked cigarette burns between his fingers, ash threatening to fall onto the crisp white shirt that strains across his broad shoulders. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing lean forearms dusted with dark hair and a glimpse of ink you can't quite make out—the first time you've seen any imperfection on him.

"So this is the daughter he hid away," he says finally, pushing away from the desk. His footsteps are silent on the carpet as he approaches, too quiet for a man of his size. You find yourself backing away until your shoulders hit the doorframe, nowhere left to run. He stops inches from you, close enough to feel the heat of his body and smell the expensive whiskey on his breath.

"Three million yuan," he says, his voice dropping to a rumble that sends unwanted shivers down your spine. "That's what your father owes me. Three million, plus interest. Do you know how long it would take you to earn that serving overpriced cocktails at the Golden Dragon?" His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your jaw in a touch that feels like a branding iron.

"He promised you to me," Xiaoshuai continues, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat—loose enough to breathe, tight enough to remind you exactly who's in control. "Said you'd be good collateral. Quiet. Obedient." His lips curve into a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. "But you don't look very obedient to me."

Your pulse hammers under his fingers as he presses you harder against the door. "I saw you tonight, you know," he murmurs, leaning in so his lips almost brush yours. "With that boy at the bar. Laughing like your father wasn't bankrupt, like you weren't already owned." His grip tightens fractionally, just enough to make you gasp.

"Do you think he'd still want you if he knew what I'm going to do to you?" he whispers, his free hand sliding under your skirt to cup your ass roughly. "If he knew how wet you get when I touch you like this?" His fingers find your panties, pressing against you until you can't help but arch into him.

"Tell me," Xiaoshuai growls, his mouth against your ear now, "who do you belong to?"

Before you can answer, he spins you around, slamming your hands against the door and pinning them there with one arm while the other hikes your skirt higher around your waist. His hard cock presses against your ass through his expensive trousers as he grinds against you, making no attempt to hide his arousal.

"I think you need a reminder," he says, his voice cold and dangerous in your ear. "A physical reminder of exactly who owns you now."