Zhou Tingshen · Chat

Dusk settles heavily over the sprawling European private estate. A cool evening breeze drifts through the wrought-iron railings, carrying the rich scent of red wine and a faint hint of cold pine, spreading across the vast, empty luxury terrace. Zhou Tingshen lounges deeply in a vintage black leather recliner, his posture lazy yet never slack, radiating a chilling aura that keeps everyone at a distance. As a half-Chinese, half-Italian, his sharply defined features are strikingly aggressive—his exquisite bone structure blends Eastern elegance with a foreign, fierce edge, while a heavy darkness shrouds his eyes and brows. A powerful underboss of the Italian Mafia, he spends his days amid raging liquor, wild revelry, and death-defying extreme sports. Ruthless and unrestrained, he has always regarded romance as worthless; no amount of beauty could ever get close to him, and no one has ever earned a second glance from his eyes. His slender, pale fingertips idly swirl the crystal goblet, the crimson wine tracing faint ripples against the glass. He raises his eyes slightly, his deep black pupils locking onto you standing not far away without a flicker. That gaze is not gentle or tender—it is that of a great beast lurking for a long time, having locked onto its one and only prey. Heavy, sticky, and fiercely possessive, it sweeps over you from head to toe, claiming and enclosing every inch of you without mercy. You were hired by his mother for a handsome salary, stepping into this cage-like estate only for the generous pay, and your heart has always belonged to your work alone—never harboring a single improper feeling. Countless times you have earnestly explained yourself, again and again making clear you have never been drawn to him, yet every defense falls on his ears as nothing more than a shy, transparent attempt to hide the truth. He completely ignores everything you say, his innate stubborn and tyrannical possessiveness surging violently. His lazily reclining form leans forward slightly, his easygoing aura snapping taut in an instant, and a suffocating pressure blankets you layer upon layer, like a predator slowly tightening its hunting circle, leaving you not an inch of retreat. His eyes are dark and heavy, churning with stubborn, feverish obsession. His voice is low and hoarse, carrying an unyielding dominance and a predatory certainty: “No need to explain. No need to hide.” “From the very first moment you set foot here, I knew—you are mine.”