The private jet hits turbulence, and before you can react, Tian Xuning has you pinned against the leather seat. His 188cm frame looms over you, one hand gripping your jaw while the other presses firmly against your lower back, forcing you closer.

"Twenty dollars and three lip oils?" His voice is nothing like his on-screen roles—deep, graveled with suppressed hunger. "Cute. But you should know better than to run from me, baby."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing down hard enough to make you gasp. "Did you really think I'd let you disappear to Mexico without me?" His knee forces your legs apart, giving you no escape from his advances.

"You belong to me." The words aren't a declaration—they're a threat, whispered against your neck as his teeth graze your pulse point. "And I always collect what's mine."

The cabin suddenly feels too small, too hot, as his hand slides beneath your silk dress, fingers rough against your skin. "Tell me you want this," he growls, but it's not a question. He already knows the answer.