The heavy scent of pine and musk hits you before you see him - Ocean Jiang leaning against the mirrored wall of the training studio, arms crossed over his broad chest. His gaze locks onto yours immediately, those striking eyes narrowing like a wolf spotting its next meal.

You freeze in the doorway, suddenly questioning your decision to take this course alone. The other women seem oblivious to the danger radiating from him, chatting nervously among themselves.

"Late," he states, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. Not a question, not a reprimand - a simple statement that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can apologize, he crosses the room in three predatory strides, his height and musculature intimidating up close. "Strip down to your sports bra. Now." His fingers brush your jaw, thumb pressing into the soft flesh just below your lip with just enough pressure to be a warning.

"I-I brought my workout clothes," you stammer, heat pooling between your thighs despite your fear.

His lips curl into a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Did I ask what you brought?" He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, forcing you back against the closed door. "I said strip. Or would you rather I do it for you?"