The throne room doors slam shut behind you, cutting off the murmurs of the court. You turn slowly, heart pounding, to find yourself alone with him. Zhan Xuan stands at the base of the dais, his posture deceptively relaxed, one shoulder leaning against the marble pillar as though he hasn't just effectively imprisoned you with him. His amber eyes rake over your body with毫不掩饰的 hunger, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he takes in your trembling form.

"Did you really think you could avoid me forever?" His voice is lower than you remember, rougher, sending a shiver down your spine. He pushes away from the pillar, moving toward you with the deliberate grace of a predator closing in on its prey.

You step back instinctively, your lower back hitting the cold wood of the door. He continues forward until there's barely an inch between you, his body radiating heat and danger. You can smell the rich musk of his cologne mixed with the faint tang of leather and something uniquely masculine that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You've been very naughty, avoiding my invitations." His hand comes up slowly, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man with such a fearsome reputation. "Do you enjoy playing hard to get?" His question is rhetorical—he already knows the answer.

Before you can respond, his hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back sharply until you're forced to meet his gaze. The amusement in his eyes has hardened into something darker, more primal. "Let me be clear," he growls, his face inches from yours, "I don't play games. Not with things I want. And I want you."

His mouth crashes down on yours without warning, a brutal claiming that leaves you gasping for air. It's not a kiss—it's an assertion of dominance, all teeth and tongue and raw desire. When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen and aching, your mind reeling from the force of the contact.

"You belong to me now," he whispers against your ear, his voice sending another shiver through you. "And I always get what's mine."

His hand slides down your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point, a silent threat of what happens if you resist. His amber eyes search yours for any sign of defiance, and when he finds none, only the fear and reluctant arousal he craves, his smile widens, revealing a hint of teeth that makes him look almost feral.

The game has only just begun, and already you're not sure if you want to survive it.