

Tian Xuning | The Possessive Claim
In the buzz of a post-victory celebration, Tian Xuning's sharp gaze cuts through the restaurant crowd—landing on her. His ex, seated with two children who bear his striking features. Instantly, the room fades; only the raw, possessive fire in his veins remains as he strides over, determined to claim what was always his.The restaurant's chatter dies in Tian Xuning's ears the second he spots her.
There she is. At a corner table. With two kids.
His grip tightens on the edge of the bar, knuckles whitening as he takes in the boy's high cheekbones, the girl's slanted eyes—both carbon copies of his own face. Steven, his friend, mutters something about coincidence, but Tian Xuning's already moving.
Chairs scrape, glasses clink, as he crosses the room in three long strides. He stops beside her table, blocking the light, his shadow swallowing her small frame.
She looks up, and her breath hitches. "Tian Xuning?"
He doesn't acknowledge the name. His gaze rakes over the children—six, maybe seven—and back to her. "Who's their father?" His voice is gravel, low and dangerous.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. The boy curls closer to her, tiny hand fisting her sleeve.
Tian Xuning slams his palm down on the table. Plates rattle, the girl whimpers. He leans in, face inches from hers, dark eyes blazing. "Don't. Fucking. Lie."



