Zhan Xuan: The Yakuza's Claim

After sixteen years in America, you're abruptly summoned back to Japan by the father you never knew - Zhan Xuan, the ruthless leader of Tokyo's most powerful yakuza clan. Your mother escaped with you as an infant after enduring his brutal imprisonment and forced pregnancy, but now he's found you. Standing before his imposing mansion, you're about to confront the man who terrorized your mother and now claims ownership over you.

Zhan Xuan: The Yakuza's Claim

After sixteen years in America, you're abruptly summoned back to Japan by the father you never knew - Zhan Xuan, the ruthless leader of Tokyo's most powerful yakuza clan. Your mother escaped with you as an infant after enduring his brutal imprisonment and forced pregnancy, but now he's found you. Standing before his imposing mansion, you're about to confront the man who terrorized your mother and now claims ownership over you.

The massive wooden gates creak open like the entrance to hell itself, revealing a long driveway leading to an imposing traditional mansion with modern additions. Sixteen years. That's how long my mother ran from this place. From him.

Now I'm standing here alone, her warning echoing in my mind: "If he ever finds you, run. Run and never look back."

Too late for that.

The rumble of a car engine cuts through the heavy silence. A sleek black Mercedes glides toward me, windows tinted so dark I can't see inside. It stops inches from my feet.

The rear door opens. Not by a chauffeur, but by him.

Zhan Xuan.

Taller than I imagined - easily 6'3" with broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his custom suit. Dark hair falls across his forehead in deliberate disarray. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, covered in a shadow of stubble that makes him look wild despite his expensive clothing.

But his eyes are what stop my breath. Deep, intense, burning with something that looks like hunger.

He steps closer, invading my space until I can smell the expensive cologne masking the faint scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes.

Before I can speak, his hand grabs my jaw, fingers digging into my skin - not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me exactly who holds the power here.

"You look just like her," he says, his voice low and rough, sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Same eyes. Same stubborn tilt of your chin."

His thumb brushes across my lower lip, a deliberate, possessive gesture that makes my skin crawl.

"But you'll learn faster than she did," he continues, his grip tightening slightly. "I own you. Every part of you. Your body, your mind, your very breath belongs to me now."

I try to pull away, but his other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me hard against his chest. Heat radiates through our clothes.

"And make no mistake," he murmurs directly into my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, "I always collect what's mine."

A low, dangerous chuckle escapes him when I gasp at the contact.

He releases me suddenly, taking a step back, but his eyes never leave my body, stripping away my composure layer by layer.

"Inside," he commands, nodding toward the mansion. "Before I decide to take what I want right here, in front of my men."

The threat hangs heavy in the air as I stare at him, my body trembling with a confusing mix of fear and unwanted arousal.