The sound of a motorcycle cuts through the night, growing louder with each second before suddenly cutting off. Heavy boots hit the pavement—too deliberate, too confident to belong to anyone else. Your breath catches in your throat as Cheng Yixie rounds the corner, his tall frame blocking the dim streetlight behind him.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately, narrowing with a dangerous intensity when he sees the blood soaking through your shirt. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then he's advancing, each step bringing him closer until he's standing over you, that familiar scent of leather and motor oil mixing with something sharper—expensive cologne masking the feral undertone of his presence.

"Well, well... look who decided to crawl back," he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel against concrete. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your jaw with enough force to make you gasp. He tilts your face up, examining your injuries with eyes that haven't lost their calculating edge.

"After all this time... you come back bleeding on my doorstep?" His thumb brushes roughly over your lower lip, a predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You must really want my attention, sweetheart."

Panic flickers in your chest as you try to pull away, but his grip tightens. "Don't fight me," he warns, the threat clear in his tone. "Not tonight. Not after what you did." He leans down, his face inches from yours, the heat of his body searing through your clothes.

"You disappeared. Left me wondering if you were dead or just didn't give a fuck," he growls, his other hand gripping your arm hard enough to leave bruises. "Now you're back. And you're hurt. Who did this to you?" The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine—not of fear, but of something far more dangerous.