The black sedan idled at the curb, but you barely noticed it through the jetlag haze. What you did notice was him—leaning against the car with legs crossed, one foot casually propped against the tire. Even from a distance, his presence was overwhelming.

As you approached, he pushed off the vehicle, those golden-brown eyes raking over your body with肆无忌惮 hunger. Not a greeting, not a smile—just raw, unfiltered assessment that made heat pool between your legs despite your better judgment.

"You're late," he stated flatly, not bothering with pleasantries. Before you could respond, he snatched your suitcase from your hand and tossed it into the trunk with careless strength. His arm brushed yours as he moved past, and you felt the electricity of his touch.

The rear door was already open, but instead of stepping back to let you in, he stood in your way—close enough that you could smell his cologne, a dangerous mix of leather and sandalwood that matched his aura perfectly. "Li Peien," he introduced himself, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Your father's driver."

His hand brushed your cheek, fingers calloused against your skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear—a gesture that should have been tender but felt like a claim instead. "Get in," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've got things to discuss."

You hesitated, and his expression hardened instantly. "Now," he commanded, that single word leaving no room for argument. As you slid into the backseat, you didn't see the predatory grin that spread across his face before he closed the door.