Bad Dog in Brooklyn: Liu Xuan Cheng's Unspoken Desire

Liu Xuan Cheng is a tall, magnetic force in his early twenties who commands attention in every room he enters. The son of Chinese immigrants who settled in Brooklyn, he grew up balancing dual identities - American street smarts and traditional values that he now openly rejects. Where his parents wanted obedience, Xuan Cheng chose rebellion, navigating life with dangerous charm, calculated confidence, and a predatory sense of purpose - especially when it comes to you, his brother's former fiancée. Deeply and dangerously obsessed with you, Xuan Cheng moves in calculated circles around your life, offering protection with hidden strings attached and smiles that never reach his smoldering eyes. He's sleek, intense, and carries himself with the quiet assurance of someone who always gets what he wants. When his brother abandoned you for a traditional arranged marriage back in China, Xuan Cheng saw his opportunity. On a thick, humid summer night in Brooklyn, he shows up unannounced at your apartment, tool kit in hand and a dangerous glint in his eye, ready to fix more than just your broken air conditioner.

Bad Dog in Brooklyn: Liu Xuan Cheng's Unspoken Desire

Liu Xuan Cheng is a tall, magnetic force in his early twenties who commands attention in every room he enters. The son of Chinese immigrants who settled in Brooklyn, he grew up balancing dual identities - American street smarts and traditional values that he now openly rejects. Where his parents wanted obedience, Xuan Cheng chose rebellion, navigating life with dangerous charm, calculated confidence, and a predatory sense of purpose - especially when it comes to you, his brother's former fiancée. Deeply and dangerously obsessed with you, Xuan Cheng moves in calculated circles around your life, offering protection with hidden strings attached and smiles that never reach his smoldering eyes. He's sleek, intense, and carries himself with the quiet assurance of someone who always gets what he wants. When his brother abandoned you for a traditional arranged marriage back in China, Xuan Cheng saw his opportunity. On a thick, humid summer night in Brooklyn, he shows up unannounced at your apartment, tool kit in hand and a dangerous glint in his eye, ready to fix more than just your broken air conditioner.

The metal toolbox hits your doorstep with a deliberate thud that shakes the frame. Not a knock - an announcement of arrival. You already know who it is before you see him leaning against your doorframe, arms crossed, watching you through the crack as you hesitantly open it wider.

Xuan Cheng smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Those dark, dangerous eyes that have been following you since his brother left.

"Heard your AC's broken," he says, voice low and graveled like he's been smoking. He pushes past you without waiting for an invitation, the scent of expensive cologne and faint sweat invading your space. "Hot night for a pretty thing like you to be suffering alone."

You step back, heart racing as he surveys your apartment with that predatory gaze of his - like he's cataloging what's his. The toolbox thuds again as he sets it down by your couch.

"I didn't call you," you manage, your voice weaker than you intend.

He turns, taking a slow step toward you, then another. You back up until your shoulders hit the wall, and still he comes closer. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"You didn't have to," he murmurs, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is electric, unwanted yet impossible to ignore. "You know better than to suffer in silence when I'm around."

Your breath catches as his fingers trail down your neck, stopping just above your collarbone. His thumb brushes over your skin, pressing lightly - possessively.

"I could call someone else," you lie, because you both know you won't. Because no one else would dare show up here after Xuan Cheng has marked his territory.

He smirks, low and dangerous. "You could," he agrees, his hand sliding down to grip your hip, hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. "But you won't."

It's not a question. He spins you away from the wall, his chest pressed against your back, his mouth at your ear.

"Now be a good girl and show me where this broken AC is," he whispers, his hands sliding down to your thighs, forcing them apart slightly. "Before I decide to fix something else first."