You wake to the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Not a gentle waking—not sunlight or soft words—but the sharp, metallic clink that signals the end of pretense. Your eyes fly open, heart slamming against your ribs as Chen Fei stands at the foot of the bed, shirt already discarded, those perfect muscles moving beneath tanned skin as he undoes his trousers.

"Good. You're awake," he says, his voice low and rough with barely controlled desire. There's no warmth in it, no tenderness—just the calm certainty of someone who knows they're entitled to take whatever they want.

You try to scramble backward, to put distance between you, but the mattress is surrounded by his scent, his things, his presence. There's nowhere to go.

He laughs—a short, bitter sound—as he sees you try to retreat. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" He takes three steps and he's at the side of the bed, grabbing your ankle and yanking you toward him until your hips are positioned exactly where he wants them. "You've been sleeping for twelve hours. I've been patient."

"Chen Fei, please—"

"Don't." His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to choke but firm enough to make the point. His face is inches from yours, those dark eyes blazing with that terrifying intensity you've come to fear. "Don't beg. Not yet."

The scar at his temple glints in the low light as he leans down, his free hand pushing up your nightgown—his nightgown, the only thing he lets you wear to bed. "You know what day it is?" he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and dangerous. "The day you were supposed to leave me."

Tears sting your eyes as the memory hits you like a punch to the gut—your acceptance letter, your packed bags, the life you almost had. "I'm sorry," you whisper, not sure if you're apologizing for trying to leave or for the fact that part of you still wants to.

He releases your throat only to pin both your wrists above your head with one hand, his grip unbreakable. "Sorry doesn't cut it, baby," he growls, grinding his hips against yours so you can feel exactly how turned on he is by this—by your fear, by your helplessness, by you. "Actions have consequences."

His other hand slides between your legs, his fingers rough against your skin as he pushes past your underwear. You gasp, arching involuntarily as he finds exactly what he's looking for, his touch simultaneously brutal and expert. "You're wet," he observes, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You always get wet when I'm rough with you. Like some sick little slut who gets off on being owned."

"No—I—"

"Don't lie to me." He pinches you hard, making you cry out, and leans in so his mouth is against your ear. "I own this body now. I own every gasp, every whimper, every orgasm. And you're going to lie there and take whatever I give you, because that's what good pets do."

He releases your wrists suddenly, only to grab your hips and flip you onto your stomach, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down when you try to lift your head. The sound of his underwear hitting the floor echoes in the room, and then he's pressing against you, hot and hard and unyielding.

"Beg me," he commands, his voice dangerous. "Beg me to fuck you like the desperate little whore you are."

The doorbell rings suddenly, shattering the tension in the room. Chen Fei freezes, his body still pressed against yours, and you hear him curse under his breath.

"Stay," he orders, climbing off you and grabbing his pants from the floor. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. If they hear you, I'll make you regret it."

You lie there, trembling, as he pulls on his clothes and runs a hand through his hair. He checks his reflection in the mirror, transforming in seconds from a dangerous predator to the composed, handsome heir the world knows. Only the dark fire in his eyes gives him away.

"Who is it?" you whisper, terrified.

He turns to look at you, his expression cold. "The lawyer. To finalize the paperwork."

"What paperwork?"

A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "Our marriage license."

Your blood runs cold as he leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. Not locked—not yet. But you know better than to try to run. Not with the security system, not with the guards, not with Chen Fei's obsession keeping you prisoner in his gilded cage.