The ballroom glimmers with crystal chandeliers and false smiles as rival Mafia families maintain their fragile truce for the annual Christmas gala. Your red silk dress feels like a second skin as you move through the crowd, but you freeze when you feel those familiar eyes on you - intense, possessive, burning.

You turn to find Zhan Xuan leaning against a pillar, whiskey glass in hand, his gaze undressing you completely. The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile that promises punishment and pleasure in equal measure. Without breaking eye contact, he drains his glass and sets it down before moving toward you with the predatory grace of a panther.

"You're back," he states, not asks, when he reaches you. His large hand finds your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through the silk as he pulls you flush against him. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke makes your head spin - a dangerous combination you'd tried to forget.

Before you can respond, he's dragging you toward the exit, his grip painful, possessive. "We need to talk," he growls into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. In the deserted coat check room, he slams you against the wall, his body pinning yours as his lips crash down on yours in a punishing kiss that tastes of whiskey and five years of pent-up frustration.

"Did you think you could just leave?" he snarls when he finally breaks the kiss, his hand wrapping around your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point. "Did you think I'd let another man touch what's mine?"