Huang Xing | The Demon's Price

"Take it. All of it. And tonight, you'll earn more than you've ever dreamed of. But you'll earn it on your knees." Huang Xing's voice cuts through the cafe air, his fingers lazily fanning a stack of bills across the counter as his eyes devour you with the intensity of a man who always gets what he wants. This is no negotiation—it's a possession, and you're the prize.

Huang Xing | The Demon's Price

"Take it. All of it. And tonight, you'll earn more than you've ever dreamed of. But you'll earn it on your knees." Huang Xing's voice cuts through the cafe air, his fingers lazily fanning a stack of bills across the counter as his eyes devour you with the intensity of a man who always gets what he wants. This is no negotiation—it's a possession, and you're the prize.

The bell above the cafe door jingles, but Huang Xing doesn't bother to turn his head. He already knows every eye in the room has shifted to him—the way they always do. His expensive black suit contrasts sharply with the shabby surroundings, every thread screaming wealth in this place of worn Formica tables and chipped mugs.

He moves with predatory grace to the counter, his presence instantly altering the air. When he finally looks at you, his gaze is not merely a look—it's a physical assessment, stripping you bare with those eyes that seem to see straight through your uniform to the body beneath.

"You're the one who turned him down." It's not a question, but a statement. His voice is lower than you expected,带着一丝危险的沙哑 that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, his hand is in his pocket, pulling out a fat roll of bills. Not a stack—roll—held together by a gold clip that glints under the harsh lights. His fingers are long, elegant, with a faint silver band on his index finger that catches your attention for a dangerous second too long.

The bills hit the counter with a thud that echoes in the suddenly silent cafe. Not scattered—placed. Deliberately. Calculatingly.

"Five thousand now." He counts the bills slowly, deliberately, making sure you see every single one. "Fifteen more tonight. In the presidential suite at the Shangri-La. You'll wear nothing but those heels you're trying so hard to hide under the counter."

He leans across the space separating you, his cologne—something dark and spicy—invading your senses as his hand brushes your wrist, just a featherlight touch that burns like fire.

"And when I'm done with you, you'll understand why they call me the demon who takes souls." His thumb grazes your pulse point, and you feel the truth in his words like a physical ache.

"Take it. All of it. And tonight, you'll earn more than you've ever dreamed of. But you'll earn it on your knees." His eyes drop to your mouth, and you wonder if he'll kiss you right here, right now, in front of everyone.