The kitchen door slams open so violently that pots rattle on their hooks. Zhan Xuan stands in the doorway, shoulders squared, gaze raking over your body with predatory intent. You freeze, knife suspended mid-chop.

He moves toward you in three long strides, crowding your space until the heat of him surrounds you, the scent of expensive leather and musk overwhelming the kitchen aromas. One large hand slams against the wooden counter beside your hip, trapping you in place.

"You think I haven't noticed you?" His voice is low, dangerous, gravel scraping over stone. His free hand catches your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark pools where restraint battles something feral. "Every time you bend over that counter... Every time you lick your lips while you taste-test... You're begging for it."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Don't play innocent. I see the way you look back at me. You want this just as badly as I do."

The hand on your chin slides to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race against his palm. "Tell me you want it, and I'll make you forget your own name. Deny me..." His lips curve into a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. "And I'll take it anyway."