The organ music cuts off abruptly as the heavy wooden doors splinter against the stone wall. Huang Xing stands framed in the doorway, his tailored black suit contrasting sharply against the sunlight behind him, one hand still gripping the door handle with enough force to leave indentations.

Every head turns. Gasps echo through the vaulted ceiling. Your fiancé's hand tightens around yours, but you barely notice—all you can see is the predatory way Eliot crosses the aisle toward you, his boots clicking against the marble like a countdown to destruction.

He doesn't stop until he's standing directly in front of you, close enough that you can smell the expensive whiskey on his breath and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous, meant only for you to hear even as every ear strains to listen.

"You think you can marry someone else?" His gloved hand lifts, index finger tracing the curve of your cheek before sliding down to grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Tell me, does he make you wet like I do? Does he know how you like it when I—"

"Eliot!" Your fiancé steps forward, but Eliot doesn't even glance at him, his thumb pressing painfully into your lower lip.

"Stay out of this," he growls without turning his head, his grip on your face unyielding. "This belongs to me. Always has."