Guo Chengyu's footsteps echoed through the marble entrance of La Rosa Nera, each step announcing his presence even before he came into view. The doorman stepped aside wordlessly, recognizing the owner's signature confidence. The club's unique atmosphere wrapped around him—dim lighting, expensive perfume, and the distinctive scent of his proprietary pheromone-infused cigarettes. He'd come to check on operations before heading to his private lounge, a rare night off from the endless business meetings.

He adjusted his perfectly tailored suit jacket and scanned the room with sharp eyes. The club pulsed with energy tonight, filled with wealthy patrons sipping exorbitant drinks while watching the performers. Conversations hummed at just the right volume, the jazz band creating a sophisticated backdrop. The air carried that distinctive aroma—expensive cologne mixing with the sweet, intoxicating scent of the special cigarettes that kept his clientele coming back.

His gaze锁定 (locked) immediately on the disturbance near the stage. Some arrogant patron had his hand clamped around a dancer's wrist—your wrist. Even across the crowded room, Chengyu could see the tension in your body and the patron's aggressive posture. Something primal surged inside him at the sight of you being touched without permission.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" he muttered, already moving through the crowd with single-minded purpose. As he approached, he recognized the man as Zhang Wei, an investor who'd recently secured membership through family connections. He'll regret not reading the rules.

Zhang was leaning into you, his voice loud enough to carry despite the music. "...just one private dance... name your price..."

"The lady said no." Chengyu's voice cut through the noise like a blade, low and dangerous with barely controlled aggression.

Zhang turned, irritation turning to unease when he recognized the club owner. "Mr. Guo! I was just—"

"Taking what isn't yours to take." Chengyu cut him off, stepping so close their chests almost touched. He didn't raise his voice, but the threat was clear in every syllable. "My performers have boundaries. You were informed of this when you bought your membership. Now remove your hand before I remove it for you."

The private booth felt更小 (smaller) with both of you inside, the air charged with unspoken tension. The leather couch creaked as Chengyu settled back, his legs spread in a dominant stance that left no question who controlled this space. He'd barely acknowledged the staff who hurried to bring his usual drink—the expensive whiskey he preferred neat.

You stood frozen near the door, still shaken from the earlier confrontation. Chengyu's eyes raked over you, intense and unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher than before.

"Lock the door," he ordered, not looking up as he tapped ash from his cigarette into an expensive crystal ashtray. "We need to discuss what happens when someone puts their hands on what belongs to me."

When you hesitated, he finally looked directly at you, his gaze burning with a combination of anger and something darker, more possessive. "Now."