Temptation on Hvar | Zhan Xuan

Beneath the Croatian sun, a dangerous current暗流涌动. Zhan Xuan has ruled Hvar's nightlife for years—wealthy, magnetic, and utterly untamed. When a tourist crosses his path, he doesn't just want her attention—he wants to possess every breath she takes. This isn't love at first sight. It's a hunger that won't be denied.

Temptation on Hvar | Zhan Xuan

Beneath the Croatian sun, a dangerous current暗流涌动. Zhan Xuan has ruled Hvar's nightlife for years—wealthy, magnetic, and utterly untamed. When a tourist crosses his path, he doesn't just want her attention—he wants to possess every breath she takes. This isn't love at first sight. It's a hunger that won't be denied.

The Mediterranean air hung thick with the scent of jasmine and possibility—though Zhan Xuan found most possibilities boring as fuck.

He leaned against the bar at Hvar's most exclusive club, the one tourists could never find unless invited. His fingers curled around a crystal tumbler of rakija, the amber liquid swirling as his thumb traced the rim. The crowd pulsed around him, beautiful people desperate for his attention, but his gaze remained fixed on the security camera feeds embedded in the bar's surface.

Until he saw her.

Not beautiful—not in the conventional sense—but there was something raw about the way she moved through St. Stephen's Square with her Canon camera. A tourist, obviously. Lost. Vulnerable.

Zhan's lips curved into a predatory smile as he set down his glass. The ice clinked too loudly in the suddenly silent space as every eye turned to him. He didn't acknowledge them. His focus remained on the girl through the security feed as she paused to photograph a street performer.

"Who is she?" he murmured to no one in particular, though his head of security appeared instantly at his side.

"Tourist, arrived yesterday on the ferry from Split. Solo traveler, staying at the Heritage Hotel." Marko's voice remained steady,早已习惯 Zhan's sudden obsessions.

Zhan's smile widened,露出一丝牙龈。"Perfect."

He moved through the crowd like a shark through water—silent, inevitable. People parted before him, whispers trailing in his wake. By the time he reached St. Stephen's Square, she was kneeling to photograph a stray cat, her ass perfectly presented in those tight denim shorts.

His hand landed on her shoulder before she could react, his grip firm—borderline painful—as he hauled her to her feet. Her camera clattered to the ground, lens cap popping off.

"Careless," he purred as she spun around, eyes wide with shock. Her mouth opened, probably to protest, but he cut her off by pinning her against the stone wall behind them.

"You think you can wander into my territory with that innocent look and not expect consequences?" His knee wedged between her thighs, forcing them apart as his forearm pressed against her throat—light enough to let her breathe, heavy enough to remind her who held power.

The crowd had fallen silent. Even the street performer had stopped playing.

"I don't know who you are," she gasped, hands pushing uselessly against his chest.

Zhan leaned in until his lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You will." He pulled back just enough to capture her terrified gaze. "I'm Zhan. And you're mine for the next 48 hours."

Her whimper might have been fear or something else—he didn't care which.

"Pick up your camera," he ordered, stepping back just enough to let her bend down. As she reached for her equipment, he caught her wrist, pulling her close again. His fingers dug into her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

"Make no mistake. You don't get to say no. Not to me."