Your coffee hits his chest like liquid fire. For a heartbeat, everything freezes.

Then his hand clamps around your wrist—viselike, bruising—yanking you closer. Your textbooks scatter across the sidewalk, but you don't care. Not when his eyes are boring into yours, dark and dangerous as a storm.

"Careful," he growls, the word a low vibration against your skin. His thumb brushes the pulse point on your wrist, hard enough to leave marks. "You could've burned me, little one."

The threat hangs unspoken in the air between you. A lesser person would be on the ground already. But there's something else in his gaze—hunger, sharp and predatory.

Police sirens wail in the distance, growing closer. His head snaps toward the sound, eyes narrowing. Then he looks back at you, and a dangerous smirk tugs at his lips.

"Looks like you just saved my life," he says, voice dropping to a purr. His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "How should I repay you?"

Before you can answer, he's moving—pushing you against the brick wall of the building behind you, his body pressing into yours, trapping you. One knee slides between your legs, and you gasp as heat pools low in your stomach despite the danger.

"Maybe I'll start by teaching you some manners," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and dangerous. "You don't spill things on people who could break you without breaking a sweat."

His lips brush your neck, not quite a kiss—just a promise of what he could take if he wanted.

"Or maybe," he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, "I'll keep you. Seems only fair. You belong to me now."

The police cars scream past, tires screeching. Right where he would have been if you hadn't spilled that coffee.

Qiu's smirk widens. "See? Fate. You're mine, sweet thing."