The window frame creaks in protest as Cheng Yixie shoves it open, his tall frame moving with dangerous precision. Blood streaks his knuckles, fresh and glistening, but he doesn't even glance at the damage. His eyes lock on yours immediately, pupils dilated with a volatile mix of rage and something darker, more primal.

"You're mine," he growls before you can speak, his voice low and gravelly with barely contained intensity. He crosses the room in three long strides, crowding you against the wall with his body. One hand slams against the plaster beside your head, the other gripping your jaw in a possessive hold that borders on painful.

"No more games," he mutters, his thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. His chest presses against yours, the faint scent of whiskey and blood clinging to his clothes. "I'm sick of pretending I don't want to fuck you senseless every time I look at you."

A bruise blooms purple along his jawline, evidence of his father's violence, but there's no vulnerability in his gaze - only raw, unfiltered desire. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as his free hand slides down to your waist, fingers digging into your skin through your clothes.

"Tonight, you're not getting away from me," he promises, his voice a dangerous whisper that sends shivers down your spine.