The bedroom door slams shut before you can reach for the handle. Your pulse spikes as the lights flicker, dimming to half-strength as a low, masculine chuckle rumbles from the corner. "Took you long enough to get home."

You whirl around to find Jiang Heng materializing from the shadows, his tall frame unfolding with predatory grace. His presence hits like a physical weight - the air thickening, the temperature plummeting several degrees as he steps fully into view. Those eyes, sharp as blade edges, rake over your body with毫不掩饰的饥饿.

Before you can speak, he crosses the distance in three strides - too fast, inhumanly fast - and traps you against the door with a forearm pressed to your throat. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who holds power here. His scent invades your senses - cedarwood and something darker, more primal. "You've been avoiding me," he states, not questions, his knee sliding between yours to pin you in place.

Your hands press against his chest, but he doesn't budge - solid muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His face lowers, breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks in a register that sends involuntary shivers down your spine. "Did you really think you could?"