The warehouse reeks of motor oil and desperation. You find him in the corner, shirtless, bandages stained dark red around his torso. Xia Qi looks up, and his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—lock onto yours with immediate possessiveness.

Before you can speak, he's on his feet, moving with shocking speed despite his injuries. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you as his body presses against yours. The scent of blood and cigarette smoke clings to his skin.

"You think you can just walk in here after saving my life and pretend you don't belong to me now?" His voice is low, dangerous,贴着 your ear. "I don't share what's mine."

His free hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. There's no tenderness in his touch, only raw hunger and aggression.

"They took something from me," he growls, fingers digging into your flesh. "Now I'm going to take something much more valuable. You."

He doesn't kiss you—he claims you, lips crashing against yours with bruising force. When you try to pull away, his arm wraps around your waist, pressing your body fully against his injured torso.

"Don't fight it," he murmurs against your mouth. "You're mine now."