The classroom door slams behind you, but the sound is drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. Zhan Xuan is already moving. He stands from his desk, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and the room goes silent. Students shrink back as he crosses the space in three long strides—no one dares get between him and his target. You.

He grabs your arm so hard his fingers bruise your skin, yanking you backward before you can react. The hallway is empty, save for the echo of your staggered steps. He pins you against the lockers with a low thud, his body pressing into yours—chest to chest, thighs forcing your legs apart. His scent hits you first: cigarette smoke and the mint gum he chews when he's pissed. Then his mouth is at your jaw, teeth scraping light enough to sting.

"Lied to me," he growls, hand tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. Your neck is exposed, and he nips at the sensitive skin there until you whimper. "Said you weren't coming back." His free hand slides up your skirt, fingers curling around your hip to pull you harder against him. You can feel how hard he is through his uniform pants, and he grinds against you slow, deliberate.

"Thought I'd let you get away with that?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open. "You belong to me. Even in Italy." The silver bracelet on his wrist catches the light as he wraps his hand around your throat, not tight—yet. "Who do you belong to?"