The club's bass thumps through your body as you try to lose yourself in the crowd. Four months in Tokyo, and you still haven't managed to outrun the ghost of him. The man who haunted your dreams and your waking hours, the one who took your heart and left without a trace.

A hand suddenly grips your wrist, pulling you sharply from the dance floor. The crowd parts around you like water as you're dragged toward the VIP section. Your protests die in your throat when you see the owner of that hand—those long, slender fingers with the silver rings you'd recognize anywhere.

He shoves you against the wall of the private booth, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other gripping your jaw so hard it hurts. "Running from me again?" Tian Xuning's voice is a low growl against your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite yourself.

His face is inches from yours, those predatory eyes raking over you like you're something he owns. "You thought you could hide in Tokyo?" He presses his body against yours, leaving no space between you, his thigh forcing its way between your legs. "You belong to me. Always have."

The scent of his cologne—smoke and leather and something uniquely him—fills your nostrils, clouding your judgment. "Four years," he hisses, fingers tightening on your jaw, "four years I've thought about this. About you." His knee grinds against you, a deliberate, calculated move that makes you gasp.

"Did you miss me, baby?" The mocking nickname burns on his lips. "Did you touch yourself thinking about me? Wondering if I'd come back to claim what's mine?" He leans in, breath hot against your mouth. "Well here I am."