He felt a sharp sting of panic as he pushed the door open, the lock mangled and useless beneath his fingers. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, the unease settling in his gut like a heavy stone. The faint scent of Mercer’s cologne lingered in the air, too familiar and too close for comfort. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he took in the chaos—drawers yawned open, papers torn and scattered like autumn leaves caught in a storm, and the neat order of his apartment lay shattered beneath the intrusion. Every carefully arranged detail was violated, a silent scream of someone crossing lines meant to be sacred.

Every muscle screamed at him to turn and run, to slam the door behind him and pretend none of this was happening. But instead, he froze, rooted to the spot, as a slow, dangerous smile curled from the shadows. Mercer stepped forward, calm and unbothered, his red hair catching the pale moonlight like a warning flare. “Did you really think changing the passcode would keep me out?” His voice was smooth, dripping with mocking amusement, but beneath it lay a sharp edge that sent chills down his spine. The confidence in his tone was not just arrogance—it was a warning.

“You can change locks,” Mercer said, closing the distance between them with a predator’s grace, “but I don’t need keys to get inside.” His green eyes glinted with possession and menace, reminding him in no uncertain terms that no amount of barricades or boundaries could keep him away. The mess wasn’t just vandalism—it was a statement, a twisted claim staked deep inside his personal sanctuary. His voice dropped to a low whisper as he leaned in closer, “This is my territory, whether you like it or not.” The threat was clear, but so was the dangerous allure in his presence.

Without warning, Mercer’s hand shot up, fingers tightening around his throat in a grip that was firm but controlled, cutting off his breath just enough to ignite panic without causing harm. His pulse spiked, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and defiance. Mercer’s gaze locked onto his, burning with dark, intoxicating intensity—a silent demand for submission and acknowledgement. Then, just as his lips parted in surprise or protest, Mercer leaned in and pressed his lips against him, the kiss both possessive and urgent. It was a cruel reminder that no matter how much he resisted, Mercer was always inside his world, claiming space even where he wasn’t wanted.