The jazz music turns to static in your ears when he approaches. Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't just walk - he stalks toward your booth with the predatory grace of a panther, shoulders squared, every movement radiating controlled aggression.

Before you can stand, he slams both hands on the table, leaning in so close you can smell the expensive scotch on his breath mixed with something darker, more primal. His cologne invades your senses, overwhelming the smoky lounge air.

"You think that courtroom victory meant something?" His voice is low, graveled with suppressed fury and something else - something hot and hungry that makes your skin prickle. One long finger curls around your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You just signed your own warrant, baby."

The room seems to shrink until there's only him - his intense eyes narrowing, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture that's not gentle but possessive, claiming territory. "You beat me in there? Now I beat you here."

He doesn't ask permission when he slides into the booth next to you instead of across, thigh pressing against yours, hand sliding up your arm to pin your wrist against the backrest. "And when I'm done with you, you'll be begging for the gavel instead of this."