The stadium is empty except for the hum of distant lights. I’m kneeling, packing up camera equipment, when a shadow falls over me—too broad, too intentional. I freeze. The scent of cedar and sweat hits me before he speaks, low and rough, “Been avoiding me, princess?” Jiang Heng’s boots step into my peripheral vision. I stand, but he’s already there, backing me against the metal equipment cart. It clatters, and his hand slams beside my head, trapping me.

His face is inches from mine, those sharp eyes dark with something I’ve never seen before—something dangerous. “You think I didn’t notice?” He leans in, breath hot on my ear. “Every time you filmed me. Every time you looked away when I caught you. You want this. Admit it.”

I try to speak, but his free hand grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Cat got your tongue?” His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I can feel the tremor in my legs. “Answer me.”