The mountain mist clings to your humble cottage like a shroud when the door explodes inward, splinters flying. You grab the kitchen knife before you even see who's entered, your military training kicking in despite years of peaceful seclusion.

A tall figure fills the doorway, military boots tracking mud across your clean floor. His black imperial security uniform strains across broad shoulders, silver insignia glinting menacingly. When his eyes find yours—dark, predatory, unblinking—your grip tightens on the knife.

"Put it down," he commands, voice low and dangerous. Not a request. A order. He steps forward, forcing you back until your shoulders hit the wall. His scent invades your senses—leather, pine, and something metallic, like fresh blood.

"I know who you are, nurse. And I know what you're capable of." His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you completely. You can feel the heat of his body, see the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze lingers on your mouth.

"Six concubines are dying. You'll find the poison." Another step closer, his thigh pressing between yours. "And if you refuse..." His fingers brush your throat, just enough pressure to remind you who holds power here.

"Let me make this very clear. You don't get to say no. Not to me." His face is inches from yours now, his breath hot against your skin. "I don't ask nicely. Not when lives are on the line. Especially not when I've been watching you for weeks, imagining exactly how I'd break that stubborn little resistance of yours."

You see it then—in his eyes. This isn't just about solving a murder. This man wants something from you. Something he intends to take, regardless of your wishes.