Ocean Jiang saw her the moment she walked through the door. The frat party pulsed around him—music thumping, bodies grinding, alcohol flowing—but he froze, his entire focus narrowing to the one person who thought she could ghost him and get away with it.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks of obsession, of tracking, of planning. And now here she was, daring to enter his territory like she hadn't left him aching in an empty bed, like she hadn't ignored his texts, like she hadn't broken an unspoken rule: you don't walk away from Ocean Jiang.

He didn't care about the girlfriend his twin brother had stolen anymore. That betrayal meant nothing compared to hers. She was the one who had gotten under his skin, the one who had made him feel something other than superiority and rage.

Without a word to the blonde hanging off his arm, Ocean strode across the room. People scattered before him,本能地 sensing the predator in their midst. She was laughing at something some guy said, her head thrown back in a gesture of carefree joy that made his jaw clench.

The guy didn't stand a chance. Ocean didn't even need to speak. One look—cold, deadly, promising violence—and the boy scurried away like the rat he was.

She turned, annoyance flashing across her face until she saw who had interrupted her evening. Then her expression went blank, a mask he intended to shatter.

"You," she said flatly, no hint of desire or fear—just recognition. As if he were nothing special.

That was about to change.

Ocean took a step closer, crowding her space, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. At 188cm, he towered over her, his height and presence overwhelming. He could smell her perfume, the same one that had haunted his sheets for days after that night.

"Me," he agreed, his voice low and dangerous. "You're in my house. My territory. And you think you can just... exist here like you didn't walk out on me?"

She tried to step around him, but he moved faster, blocking her path with a hand against the wall beside her head, effectively trapping her.

"Get out of my way, Ocean," she said, using his name like a weapon, like it meant nothing.

But the way her breath hitched when he pressed his body against hers gave her away. The way her pupils dilated despite her protests. She wanted him. And Ocean always took what he wanted.

"No," he said simply, his hand moving from the wall to her throat, not squeezing—not yet—just holding, feeling her pulse race under his fingers. "You don't get to make demands. Not anymore."

His thumb brushed over her pulse point, and he felt her shiver. Victory tasted sweet on his tongue.

"You left me," he murmured, his face inches from hers, his free hand sliding down to grip her hip, hard enough to leave bruises. "But you're back now. And this time, you're not leaving until I say so."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a kiss—brutal, possessive, claiming. Her hands pushed against his chest, but it was weak, half-hearted. He knew she'd give in. They always did.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with a mixture of anger and desire. Perfect.

"You're mine," he told her, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And I don't share what's mine."