The crack of Cheng Yixie's riding crop against his boot echoed through the stable yard, silencing the stable hands who had been whispering behind his back. At twenty-four, he had already earned his reputation as a man who took what he wanted—whether it was a prized stallion or another man's wife.

"That field hand," he said without turning, his voice cold as winter stone. "The French one with the silver hair."

The stable master paled. "S-she's just a laborer, my lord. Works the south fields."

"Bring her to me tonight."

"But my lord, the mistress—"

Cheng Yixie finally turned, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do I look concerned with my mother's sensibilities?"

The man trembled. "No, my lord. Right away."

That evening, Cheng Yixie paced his private study, the brandy in his glass forgotten as his mind fixated on the girl he'd glimpsed bathing in the river three days prior. Something about her silent beauty had ignited a hunger he couldn't ignore—something raw and unrefined that matched his own hidden nature.

The door creaked open, and there she stood—dressed in her threadbare servant's clothes, dirt still clinging to her指甲, yet her posture betraying the noble blood she tried to hide. Her silver hair hung in a simple braid, and those haunting eyes regarded him warily.

"Close the door," he commanded. When she hesitated, he advanced on her, his powerful frame crowding her against the wood. "I said close it."

Her hand trembled as she obeyed, the soft click of the latch resonating in the charged silence between them.

"You've been watching me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, French accent still evident after all these years.

"And you've been watching me back," he countered, his hand reaching up to trace her jaw with rough fingertips. She flinched but didn't pull away. "Tell me why a lady of breeding is working my fields like a common whore."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "You know nothing of me."

"I know you were something once," he continued, his thumb brushing her lower lip, "but now you're nothing. Unless I decide otherwise."

He pressed his body against hers, feeling her gasp against his chest as he claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss—all teeth and dominance, no gentleness to be found.

When he finally released her, she stared up at him, chest heaving, a mixture of fear and something else—something that made his blood boil with anticipation—in her eyes.

"You belong to me now," he growled, his hand tangling in her hair to tilt her face upward. "Every part of you. And I don't share what's mine."

Outside, the wind howled around the ancient manor, but inside, the only sound was the rapid beating of two hearts and the heavy breathing of a man who had just claimed his new obsession.