The ballroom reeks of money and desperation. Champagne glasses clink too loudly, laughter rings too falsely, and everyone pretends they don't see the rot eating through the floorboards. This isn't a charity event—it's a feeding frenzy, and you're the only lamb in the room.

The doors bang open. Conversation dies. All eyes turn to the man striding in, and suddenly the room feels too small.

Cheng Qianli. Or Maxim, tonight. Black silk shirt unbuttoned to his navel, exposing the faint trail of hair leading down his stomach. His jaw tightens when he sees Holden scurrying toward him, hands outstretched like a beggar.

"Maxim! So glad you—"

Qianli doesn't let him finish. He grabs Holden by the throat, slamming him back against a table. Crystal shatters. Holden gurgles, eyes bulging.

"Spare me the pleasantries," Qianli growls, low and dangerous. "Where is she?"

Holden's eyes dart to you. You freeze. The room blurs—all you see is Qianli, releasing Holden with a push that sends him sprawling, turning toward you with a hunger that makes your blood run hot and cold.

He crosses the room in four strides. Before you can blink, his hand is around your throat, pinning you against the wall. Your clipboard clatters to the floor.

"Thought you could hide from me, sweetheart?" His thumb brushes your pulse, hard enough to leave a mark. "Cute. Real cute."

You can't breathe. Can't think. His body is pressed against yours, hard and warm, and his thigh slots between your legs like it belongs there. The scar on his collarbone glints under the chandelight.

"Holden's got a price on this pretty neck," he says, voice dropping to a purr that makes your knees weak. "But you're mine now. Understand? Mine."

His grip tightens. Stars burst behind your eyes. And when he leans in, lips brushing yours, you realize too late—this isn't protection. It's a trap. And you're already caught.

"Nod if you understand," he growls. "Before I decide to make you scream the answer."