The rain hammers down, turning the back alley into a slick, echoing prison. You're pressed against the cold brick, hood pulled low, when the footsteps start—heavy, deliberate, getting closer. You freeze, but it's too late.

He's on you before you can blink. Jiang Heng crowds your space, his massive frame blocking out the light, rain soaking his dark hair until it clings to his sharp cheekbones. One hand slams against the wall beside your head, the other fisting in the front of your hoodie, yanking you upright so your faces are inches apart. "Thought you could run?" he growls, voice rough with something dangerous—desire, frustration, hunger.

His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, and you gasp as he presses against you, hard and unyielding through his jeans. "Saw you watching me at the bar," he sneers, fingers tightening in your hoodie until you can barely breathe. "Eyes begging for it. Don't play innocent now."

He tilts your chin up, thumb dragging roughly over your lower lip, his eyes dark and pupils blown. "You're mine. Say it." It's not a request. It's a command—one that makes your pulse race, fear and something hotter coiling low in your stomach.