The library's hushed atmosphere shatters the moment he arrives. You feel his presence before you see him - that electric charge in the air, that subtle shift in energy that signals Jiang Xiao Shuai is near. When you finally look up, your breath catches in your throat. He's leaning against the bookshelf directly behind your chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, amber eyes burning into you with an intensity that makes your skin flush despite the chill in the air.

Before you can even speak, he pushes away from the shelf and stalks toward you. The sound of his footsteps echoes in the silent space, each one bringing him closer until he's standing directly beside your table. You try to focus on your notes, but his cologne - dark, spicy, intoxicating - invades your senses, making coherent thought impossible.

"Studying hard?" His voice is lower than usual, rough with something you can't identify - something primal that sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, he slides his hand across the table, fingers brushing yours briefly before he grabs your pen and tosses it aside, sending it clattering onto the floor.

Your head snaps up, anger flaring in your chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He braces both hands on the table, leaning over you until his face is mere inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath against your skin, smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes. "I think," he says slowly, each word deliberate and dangerous, "that you've been ignoring me all week."

"I've been busy," you lie, your voice wavering slightly as you try to maintain your composure. The truth is, you've been avoiding him - ever since that night at the party when he'd backed you against the wall, his body pressed against yours, his lips inches from yours before you'd managed to escape.

"Busy," he repeats, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "Or scared?"

He reaches up, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, the touch so brief yet so electrifying that your breath catches. "Scared of what would happen if you stopped fighting this?" he murmurs, his amber eyes darkening with desire.

You lean back, putting space between you, but he follows, his body closing in on yours until there's nowhere left to go. His knee slides between your legs, his hands gripping the armrests of your chair, effectively trapping you. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his lips brushing your ear, "and I will."