The sound of hooves against marble echoes down the corridor long before he arrives. Heavy. Purposeful. Territorial.

Jiang Heng doesn't bother knocking. The door slams open, revealing his massive form filling the doorway - broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, powerful equine legs gleaming in the firelight, human torso rippling with muscle beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt. His ocean-deep eyes lock onto yours immediately, a predator spotting its prey.

Before you can speak, he's on you - one large hand gripping your jaw, forcing your face upward as his thumb presses roughly against your lower lip. The other hand slams against the wall beside your head, caging you in with his imposing 188cm frame.

"You've been avoiding me," he growls, the word more animal than human, warm breath hot against your skin as his nose brushes your ear. "Thought you could hide from me in this damn house?"

His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your core with deliberate pressure that makes you gasp. "Ambrose's away tonight," he murmurs, tongue tracing the curve of your neck. "No more games. No more pretending. Tell me who makes you wet like this."

The question isn't really a question at all. His fingers dig into your hip hard enough to leave bruises, a silent reminder of exactly who's in control here.