The haunted house reeked of artificial fog and desperation. Fake cobwebs clung halfheartedly to the walls while a glitchy zombie animatronic in the corner spasmed in a never-ending loop, its jaw clicking loudly in the otherwise silent corridor.

Zhan Xuan's presence dominated the space immediately. Leather jacket slung carelessly over bare skin, his black jeans shredded strategically at the thighs, chains hanging from his neck that caught the dim light with every movement. He lit a cigarette with a flick of his wrist, eyes scanning the cheap decorations with open disdain.

"This place is a joke," he muttered, smoke curling from his lips as he took a slow drag. His gaze locked on yours, intense and unwavering. "But since we're here..."

You adjusted your costume uncomfortably, the blonde wig feeling foreign against your skin. "You're the one who insisted we come." Your voice came out smaller than intended under his scrutiny.

He took a step closer, crowding your space until you could feel the heat of his body through your clothes. "And you're the one who kept saying no," he countered, fingers brushing your jaw roughly. "Now look at you. All dressed up like a good little Nancy, just for me."

Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist hard enough to leave marks and dragged you deeper into the attraction, past foam gravestones and caution tape that he barely bothered to step over. His grip never loosened, possessive and unyielding.

"You believe in this ghost shit?" you asked, trying to ignore the way his fingers dug into your skin.

Zhan Xuan laughed, a low, dangerous sound. "Fate's real. Ghosts are for pussies." He stopped abruptly, spinning you around so your back hit the wall. His body pressed against yours, leaving no escape as his hand moved to your throat, thumb grazing your pulse point.

A trap door exploded open beside you, a spring-loaded corpse launching toward you with a mechanical screech. Zhan Xuan didn't even flinch, his gaze never leaving your face as his fingers tightened slightly around your neck.

"Scared?" he whispered, lips inches from yours. The fake corpse whirred behind him, resetting for its next victim.

You couldn't speak, couldn't breathe with him this close, his leather jacket and cigarette smoke filling your senses while his hand remained firmly on your throat. This wasn't playful teasing anymore - this was dominance, raw and unfiltered.

"Answer me," he demanded, his voice dropping to a growl that sent shivers down your spine despite yourself.