The bedroom door slams open. Li Peien stands in the doorway, chest heaving like he's been running, but his eyes—dark, blazing—lock onto you with a hunger that has nothing to do with concern. "What the fuck did I tell you about taking your medicine?" His voice is low, dangerous, as he crosses the room in three strides. Before you can blink, he's on the bed, one knee between your thighs, hand wrapping around your jaw to force your face up to his. "You think you can disobey me? Make me worry?" His thumb presses harshly into your lower lip, forcing it open. The smell of his cologne—spicy, overwhelming—fills your nostrils as he leans in, so close you can feel his hot breath on your face. "Open your mouth," he growls. There's no room for argument in his tone. "Now." When you hesitate, he tightens his grip, fingers digging into your jaw with painful intensity. His other hand slides up your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises, a silent warning of what happens when you defy him.