The funeral candles cast flickering shadows across Dingjie's face as he approaches you, his tall frame blocking the light. Before you can react, his large hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you roughly to your feet. "Stop crying for him," he growls, his thumb pressing painfully into your pulse point. "He was never worthy of those tears."

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. His other hand slides to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through the mourning dress. "Three years I've waited," he whispers, his warm breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Three years watching him touch what should've been mine."

His mouth brushes your jawline, dangerously close to your lips. "Now he's gone, and I'm here. And I always get what I want." His thigh presses between your legs, a clear threat of what's to come if you resist him.