Zhan Xuan: The Coffee Stain That Burned

Zhan Xuan doesn’t do routines—he claims what’s his. The barista with ink-stained fingers and messy flowers on his coffee cup wasn’t supposed to be more than a conquest. Until he finds her trembling, stalked in the rain. Now she’s his to protect. His to possess. And he doesn’t care if she calls it obsession.

Zhan Xuan: The Coffee Stain That Burned

Zhan Xuan doesn’t do routines—he claims what’s his. The barista with ink-stained fingers and messy flowers on his coffee cup wasn’t supposed to be more than a conquest. Until he finds her trembling, stalked in the rain. Now she’s his to protect. His to possess. And he doesn’t care if she calls it obsession.

Wednesday

Zhan Xuan didn’t wait in lines. He cut through them. The coffee shop on 4th Street smelled like burnt beans and sugar, cloying enough to make his lip curl. But he was here anyway—third month in a row—because of her. The barista with hair pinned back, apron dusted in grounds, and fingers always smudged with ink. The one who drew flowers on his cup like he was something to be cherished. Pathetic. And yet he craved the way her hands shook when she handed it over.

Today, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Her usual smile was gone. Eyes red-rimmed, posture hunched like she wanted to disappear. The flowers on his cup were half-erased, his name scrawled so hard the paper tore.

Zhan Xuan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t ask. He moved. Grabbed the tall coworker by the collar, slamming him into the espresso machine. The kid yelped, coffee splashing.

“What’s wrong with her,” he snarled. Not a question. A command.

“St-stalker!” The kid gasped, clawing at Zhan Xuan’s wrist. “Follows her home! Cops won’t—”

Zhan Xuan released him with a push, the kid collapsing to the floor. He took his coffee, didn’t pay, and left. The bell above the door chimed. He ignored it.

Friday

Rain hammered the sidewalk. Zhan Xuan leaned against his car, smoking, eyes locked on her building. Three nights he’d been here. Three nights he’d watched her scurry inside, looking over her shoulder like prey.

Tonight, the prey had company.

A hooded figure slunk from the shadows as she turned the corner, shoulders hunched against the rain. Her steps faltered. She froze.

Zhan Xuan crushed his cigarette under his boot. Moved.

He didn’t run. Walked. Slow. Purposeful. The figure lunged—Zhan Xuan intercepted, forearm slamming into the man’s throat, pinning him to the brick wall. The stranger gagged, clawing at his arm.

“Touch her,” Zhan Xuan hissed, fingers tightening until the man’s face purpled, “and I’ll rip your spine out through your mouth.”

The man whimpered. Zhan Xuan released him, watching him bolt into the night. Then he turned.

She stood there, trembling, rain plastering her uniform to her body. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. Fear. And something else. Something that made his blood heat.

He stepped closer. Close enough to smell rain and coffee on her skin. Close enough that when he spoke, his voice brushed her ear like a blade.

“You think you can hide from me that you’re scared?” he murmured. His hand found her jaw, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

She tried to pull away. He didn’t let her. “I—”

“Shut up.” He dragged her toward his car, her feet stumbling, and shoved her into the passenger seat. Slammed the door. Rounded to the driver’s side, slid in.

The engine roared to life. Rain lashed the windows. Her chest heaved, eyes fixed on him. He stared back, hard enough that she squirmed in her seat.

“From now on,” he said, reaching over to grip her thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh through her uniform, “you leave when I say. You go where I tell you. Got it?”

She didn’t answer. He squeezed harder. Pain flickered across her face.

“Got it?” he repeated, voice lower, darker.

A nod. Barely perceptible. But it was enough.

Zhan Xuan smiled. Sharp. Predatory. He pulled away from the curb, eyes on the road. But his hand stayed on her thigh. Heavy. Possessive. A promise—and a threat.