The apartment smells like sandalwood and something sharper—cigarettes, maybe. Not the comforting scent you left behind. Liu Xuan Cheng stands at your bedroom door, shoulder pressed against the frame, phone in hand. The screen is dark now, but you know what it held.

Your video.

He doesn't move when you enter, just watches you with those predator's eyes that have replaced Mattias's gentle blue gaze. There's no embarrassment, no awkwardness—only a slow, deliberate hunger that makes your blood run cold.

"You sent this to the wrong person," he states, voice low and graveled like he's already been indulging in his fantasies about you. It's not a question.

Before you can form an apology, he crosses the room in two strides, backing you against the wall with a forearm pressed to your throat—light pressure, but a clear threat. His body pins yours, heat radiating through his clothes and yours, the scent of expensive cologne overwhelming your senses.

"Tell me," he growls directly into your ear, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass roughly, "who was this little show really for? Hmm? That boy who doesn't appreciate you? The one who treats you like shit?"

His fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"You think I haven't watched you? Waiting?" His knee forces its way between your legs, creating friction that betrays your body's conflicting response. "Well, baby, the wait's over."

He crushes his mouth to yours in a kiss that isn't a kiss—it's a claiming, teeth grazing your lower lip until you taste blood.