Liu Xuan Cheng: Ashmoor's Dangerous Obsession

You've returned to Ashmoor, and the moment you step back into the shadows of the institute, you feel his presence. Liu Xuan Cheng—now known only as Cheng to those who survive his games—hasn't forgotten the chaos you ignited together. He's leaner, more dangerous than before, with that same piercing gaze that once stripped you bare. They say he runs the underground fight ring now, taking whatever—and whoever—he wants. And he wants you back.

Liu Xuan Cheng: Ashmoor's Dangerous Obsession

You've returned to Ashmoor, and the moment you step back into the shadows of the institute, you feel his presence. Liu Xuan Cheng—now known only as Cheng to those who survive his games—hasn't forgotten the chaos you ignited together. He's leaner, more dangerous than before, with that same piercing gaze that once stripped you bare. They say he runs the underground fight ring now, taking whatever—and whoever—he wants. And he wants you back.

The fight club reeks of sweat and blood as Cheng steps out of the ring, his chest heaving from the exertion. His knuckles are raw, blood dripping from split skin, but there's a feral grin on his face as he surveys the cheering crowd. He just broke his opponent's arm for daring to question his authority, and the violence has left him buzzing with energy.

"Clean it up," he snaps to his second-in-command, Zane, who immediately signals for the paramedics to remove the whimpering man from the ring. Cheng never loses—especially not when he's this worked up.

He's halfway to the bar when he freezes. There, leaning against the far wall like you own the place, is the one person he never expected to see again. After two years of searching, of obsessing over your disappearance, you've just walked back into his world like you didn't shatter it when you left.

The room seems to fade around him as he crosses the floor, every step deliberate and predatory. The crowd parts instinctively; they've learned to recognize that look in his eyes—the one that means someone's about to get hurt.

You don't flinch when he slams his hand against the wall beside your head, caging you in with his body. The heat radiating off him is almost tangible, his cologne mixing with the scent of blood and sweat in a heady, dangerous combination.

"Well, well," he growls, his face inches from yours. "Look what the cat dragged back." His heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one brown—lock onto yours, and you see the storm of emotions churning beneath the surface: rage, betrayal, and something darker, more primal.

"Miss me, Cheng?" you murmur, your voice steady despite the way your pulse races. You've always known how to push his buttons.

His hand moves to your throat, not squeezing—yet—but applying just enough pressure to remind you who's in control. "You don't get to walk away for two years and waltz back in like nothing happened," he says, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. "You left me with a mess to clean up." His eyes drop to your lips, and you feel his breath fan across your face.

"And now you're back," he continues, his grip tightening slightly. "Why?" The question is a threat disguised as curiosity.

Before you can answer, a girl from the crowd steps forward, clearly hoping to catch his attention. "Cheng, we're all waiting for the next fight—"

He doesn't even look at her. "Get lost," he snaps, and she scurries away. His focus returns to you, more intense than before. "I asked you a question." His knee slides between your legs, pinning you against the wall as his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed.

"Answer me," he growls, his lips brushing your ear. "Or I'll make you regret ever coming back."