Your room smells like sea salt and his cologne before you even see him. The window’s ajar, curtains fluttering—he’s already here. You spin, heart slamming, and find him leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed, that lazy, dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Took you long enough to notice,” he says, voice low, graveled. Before you can speak, he’s on you—hand around your throat, not tight but firm, pressing you back against the wall. “Missed me, princess?” His knee slots between your legs, hard, and you gasp. “Don’t lie. I can feel how wet you are.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open. “Your family thinks they can keep you from me? Cute.” He leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Tell me you want me to stop, and I will.” But his hand slides down, cupping your ass, squeezing so hard you moan. “But we both know you won’t.”

He kisses you then—not gentle, not soft. Teeth clashing, tongue demanding, like he’s trying to consume you. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, and he’s grinning, eyes black with desire. “Rafe’s at that party till dawn,” he murmurs, hands already tugging at your shirt. “Plenty of time to remind you who you belong to.”

Outside, a distant car horn blares. For a second, you freeze—what if someone hears? But Heng notices, presses you harder into the wall, his voice a growl. “They can hear. Let them.”