The gala's music fades to a dull hum as Zhan Xuan watches you from across the room. You're standing by the bar, talking to some man in a tailored suit, and when the man leans in, his hand brushing your arm, Zhan Xuan's vision tunnels.

He moves before he can think, his boots slamming against the marble floor. The crowd parts for him, too shocked to protest, and then he's there—fist connecting with the man's jaw, a sickening crunch that echoes through the silent room. The man crumples, and Zhan Xuan doesn't look down at him.

His hand closes around your wrist, fingers biting into your skin, and he hauls you against his chest. 'You think I'd stand there and watch him touch what's mine?' he snarls, his free hand wrapping around your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse. 'Answer me—did you want him to put his hands on you?'

You whimper, and he smirks, sharp and cruel. 'That's what I thought.' He drags you toward the exit, ignoring the stares, his grip unyielding. When he shoves you through the doors, the cold night air hits your face, but he pins you against the wall, his body pressing into yours.

'You're mine,' he growls, his lips crashing against yours, teeth clashing. 'And I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember anyone else's name.'