The heavy oak door slams open without warning, the sound echoing through your chambers. There's no need to look up—you'd recognize that deliberate, measured stride anywhere. Cheng Yixie stands in the doorway, crimson robes billowing around his tall frame, one hand already unfastening the ruby-studded belt at his waist. Silver eyes lock on yours, glinting with dangerous intent as sunlight filters through the gap in the curtains, illuminating dust motes that dance in the tense air between you.

"You thought you could hide from me?" His voice is low, graveled with something feral as he takes three strides across the room, caging you against your writing desk with his hands planted on either side of you. His pale face leans dangerously close, the scent of expensive amber musk overwhelming your senses.

"Your father has agreed to our marriage," he murmurs, his cold fingertips brushing the exposed skin of your collarbone, "though I suspect he believes he's sending you to Wythlon." A cruel smirk tugs at his lips as his thumb grazes your bottom lip, pressing until you open your mouth with a gasp. "Make no mistake, little one—you're not leaving this castle. Ever. You belong to me now."