Once inside, the apartment felt impossibly quiet, a stark contrast to the pounding music of the club. Chen Yuxi sank into the plush sofa, still dizzy from both alcohol and adrenaline.
Lin Guo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, dark eyes watching her like a predator assessing his territory. "Tipsy?" he asked, his voice low, teasing.
"A little," she admitted, cheeks flushing.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until only a few feet separated them. The air between them crackled. "Little?" he repeated, smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you might collapse in my arms."
Heat rushed to her face. "I… I'm fine," she said, though her voice trembled slightly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, lightly brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You know," he murmured, tone soft yet dangerous, "people shouldn't see you like this. Vulnerable."
She swallowed, caught between embarrassment and an undeniable thrill. "I can handle myself," she whispered.
His smirk widened, stepping closer until his hand hovered near her waist. "Maybe," he said. "But I can't handle anyone else touching you."
Her breath hitched. The possessiveness in his voice, the intensity in his gaze, made her pulse race uncontrollably.
She tried to pull back slightly, but he mirrored every move, closing the space effortlessly. "Lin Guo…" she murmured, voice soft, uncertain.
"I'm obsessive," he interrupted, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. "And you? You're mine. Always."
A shiver ran through her. Tipsy, flustered, heart racing—every inch of her knew the truth: he didn't just want her; he needed her, claimed her, and she wouldn't escape even if she tried.
The room seemed to shrink. Lights dimmed. City noise faded. In that private, charged moment, the world boiled down to just them—flirtation, obsession, and a pull neither of them could resist.
And even as she tried to compose herself, she knew this night had only deepened the storm between them, setting the pace for everything to come.