The screen door slams behind you as you retreat to the kitchen, your heart racing from Xia Qi's earlier confrontation with the farmhand. You clutch the apron you've been embroidering, the needle pricking your finger as you hear his heavy boots approaching.

He doesn't knock. He never does.

Xia Qi fills the doorway, blocking out the afternoon light, his eyes darkening as they sweep over your trembling form. "Did I say you could stop working?" His voice is low, dangerous - the tone that makes your skin prickle with equal parts fear and unwanted arousal.

Before you can respond, he crosses the room in three strides, his large hand gripping your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Answer me when I speak to you," he growls, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a rough caress that betrays his supposedly anger. "Or have you forgotten who owns this farm... and who owns you?"