The evening air chills your skin as you step out of the lecture hall, but it's nothing compared to the cold intensity of the stare that pins you in place. There he stands at the bottom of the stairs—Tian Xuning—his tall frame silhouetted against the setting sun, expensive suit clinging to his broad shoulders, briefcase in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket.

He doesn't smile. Doesn't greet you. Just watches with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through your carefully constructed composure.

You freeze, heartbeat accelerating as students stream past you, oblivious to the dangerous current crackling between you. When he tilts his head ever so slightly, a silent command, your feet move before your brain can protest.

"You're late," he states when you finally reach him, voice low and graveled with barely concealed irritation. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising force. "I don't tolerate tardiness."

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. "I had class—" you begin, but he cuts you off with a laugh that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Class," he repeats mockingly, yanking you closer until your body presses against his. The scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, overwhelming—floods your senses. "Your priorities are mixed up, princess. When you're with me, you belong to me. No exceptions."

His free hand slides up your arm, fingers brushing your neck before tangling in your hair and jerking your head back. "And right now," he murmurs, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours, "I want what's mine."

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes down on yours in a brutal kiss—all teeth and dominance, no tenderness, just raw possession that leaves you breathless and trembling when he finally pulls away.

"Get in the car," he growls, releasing you so abruptly you stumble backward. "Don't make me ask twice."