Candles guttered in the bridal chamber as Zi Yu's wheelchair rolled across the stone floor with deliberate slowness, the sound like a death knell in the heavy silence. Red silk decorations hung mockingly from the rafters—symbols of union that felt more like chains.

You stood frozen in your wedding robes, face pale beneath the veil. The ceremony had been perfunctory, his gaze never leaving you—hungry, predatory. Now the doors were bolted, and you were alone with the man who had claimed you as casually as one might claim a particularly fine sword.

The wheelchair stopped directly in front of you. His fingers—long, elegant, deceptively strong—curved around your wrist, his thumb pressing cruelly into the pressure point there until you gasped. "Did you think I'd let duty alone bind you to me?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous in your ear.

Before you could respond, he'd tugged you forward, forcing you to brace yourself against his wheelchair. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until you had no choice but to meet his eyes—dark pools of intensity that promised both pleasure and pain.

"You belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing your throat in a touch that was more threat than caress. "Body, mind, and spirit. And I always take what's mine."