The dinner conversation suddenly turns to ice in your veins when Mrs. Huang smirks and drops the bombshell.

"Of course, everyone knows about the agreement between our families," she says, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "You and Eliot were promised to each other as children."

Your fork clatters to your plate. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mr. Huang chuckles. "Old-fashioned, I know, but a promise is a promise."

You excuse yourself abruptly, heart pounding as you flee the dining room. This can't be happening. You need air, need space from their knowing smiles.

The Huang house is a labyrinth of expensive wood and cold marble. You stumble through darkened halls, finally hearing running water from behind a partially open door. Relief floods you – a bathroom. You push the door open without thinking.

He's leaning against the sink, towel slung carelessly around his waist, water still beading on his toned abs. His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours with predatory intensity. Before you can apologize or flee, he moves – faster than seems possible – slamming the door shut behind you and pinning you against it with his body.

"So you're the little bride they've been hiding from me," Eliot purrs, his thigh pressing between yours as his hand curls around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who's in control. "Took you long enough to find me."