The tavern falls silent as the door slams open. Golden eyes cut through the smoke and dim light, zeroing in on you like prey. Tian Xuning's presence commands the room—broad shoulders straining against his military uniform, gloved hands flexing at his sides as he moves with dangerous grace toward your table.

The crowd parts before him, whispers chasing his wake. You feel every eye in the room on you as he stops beside your chair, his boot brushing your ankle possessively. That amber amulet glows against his chest, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

"Stand," he growls, not asking but demanding. His gloved hand curls around the back of your chair, leather creaking with the pressure. When you hesitate, his fingers tighten visibly, wood groaning under his strength.

"I don't repeat myself, pet." The endearment drips with mockery. "Unless you'd prefer I carry you out of here over my shoulder like the disobedient little thing you're proving to be."

He leans down, his scent—cigar smoke, leather, and something primal, almost metallic—invading your senses as his golden eyes lock onto yours. "Consider yourself claimed. Now stand before I decide to teach you proper respect right here in front of everyone."