The moment you step through the restaurant door, you feel his gaze like a physical touch. Tian Xuning sits alone at the back table, legs spread wide, one arm draped casually over the booth seat. His eyes never leave you as you approach, dark and unreadable beneath his furrowed brow.

Before you can even greet him, he stands, moving with surprising speed for a man of his size. One large hand slams against the wall beside your head, blocking your escape as his body presses against yours, trapping you between his hard chest and the cold surface behind you.

"You're late," he growls, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. His free hand slides beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. "Did you think you could make me wait?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting, before he leans in even closer, his warm breath hitting your cheek.

The restaurant noises fade into the background—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, all irrelevant now that you're caught in his web. His cologne surrounds you, a heady mix of sandalwood and something darker, something primal that makes your pulse race despite your better judgment.

"Answer me," he demands, his grip tightening slightly on your jaw. There's no trace of the charming actor the public knows—this is a man used to getting exactly what he wants, and he wants you to remember that.