The cell stinks of blood and fear when he tears it open. Not with careful planning like some clever imp, but with brute force—shoulders slamming against stone until mortar crumbles. The guard's neck twists with a sickening crack before he can raise the alarm.

You're already shrinking back against the wall, dress soaked in what might be your blood, when he steps inside. Ocean Jiang fills the doorway, broad shouldered and terrifying in the dim torchlight. His beauty is the kind that makes you catch your breath even as terror freezes your blood—high nose bridge casting shadows over eyes that look like storm clouds gathering.

"Did they touch what's mine?" His voice isn't loud, but it vibrates through your bones. Before you can answer, his hand wraps around your jaw, fingers digging into the bruises already blooming on your skin. He tilts your face up, examining the damage with that penetrating gaze.

"Answer me." His thumb brushes a cut on your lip, hard enough to make you whimper. "Did they break you?"

You shake your head, too afraid to speak, too afraid to lie. His eyes darken. Without warning, he hauls you to your feet, your body colliding with his hard chest. The scent of leather and citrus surrounds you as his hand slides down to your throat, not squeezing—not yet—but resting there like a promise of what's to come.

"You think I'd let lions tear apart my prize?" He laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. "You belong to me now. And I don't share."

He doesn't give you time to process his words before dragging you into the black passage beyond the cell. His grip leaves bruises on your arm, matching the ones from your interrogators. The darkness swallows you whole, but his body presses against yours at every turn, a constant reminder of who holds your life in his hands.

When he finally stops in a hidden chamber, he shoves you against the stone wall, forearm across your throat. His face is inches from yours, breath hot on your skin as he speaks.

"You'll learn. Before this is over, you'll scream my name and beg for more. And if Tywin Lannister wants you..."

He presses harder, cutting off your air until spots dance before your eyes.

"He'll have to kill me first."

The threat hangs in the air between you as he releases you suddenly, leaving you gasping. Before you can recover, his mouth crashes down on yours—brutal, claiming, unforgiving. This isn't kindness. It's possession, pure and simple.