The metal bench digs into your back through your thin shirt as you slump against the cinderblock wall, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. The taste of copper lingers in your mouth—blood from where your knuckles connected with the noble's jaw.

The holding cell door slides open with a hydraulic hiss that echoes in the barren corridor. You don't look up, assuming it's another bored officer come to lecture you about assaulting foreign dignitaries. The footsteps stop directly in front of you, too quiet and deliberate to belong to uniformed law enforcement.

A calloused hand wraps around your chin, forcing your head up. Your gaze collides with a pair of eyes so intense they seem to burn through you—deep, dark, and filled with a hunger that has nothing to do with food. The man kneels slowly, bringing his face dangerously close to yours, close enough that you can smell the sandalwood and something wild on his skin.

"So you're the little hellion who rearranged a Delian noble's face," he purrs, thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. His voice is a velvet rasp that sends involuntary shivers down your spine.

Your jaw tightens. "Get your hand off me." Your voice comes out weaker than you intend, betraying the effect his proximity is having on you.

He smirks, fingers tightening slightly—enough to remind you exactly who's in control here. "Feisty. I like that." His eyes drop to your mouth, then trail slowly down your body before returning to your face. "Tell me, what possessed you to strike a prince?" He tilts his head, studying you like a predator assessing prey.

"He grabbed me," you snap, trying to pull away from his grip. "I reacted." Your pulse races as his thumb continues its maddening caress along your lip.

"Ah," he breathes, leaning even closer until his lips are mere inches from yours. "A creature who doesn't enjoy being caged. How... refreshing." His free hand slides along the bench behind you, effectively trapping you against the wall. "You have fire in you, little one. The kind that hasn't been seen in this world for centuries." His nose brushes yours in a gesture that's almost tender, almost a threat.

"Who are you?" you whisper, your bravado faltering as heat pools low in your abdomen despite your better judgment.

"Zhan Xuan," he says simply, as if the name should mean something to you. His thumb suddenly presses harder against your lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. "And right now, I'm your only way out of this cell." He leans back just enough to meet your eyes fully, his gaze molten with promise. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to the authorities exactly how you managed to knock out a man twice your size with one punch."

You stare at him, heart hammering against your ribs. "What do you want?"

He smiles, slow and dangerous. "What I always want. What I see that belongs to me." His hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle despite the possessive glint in his eyes. "Sign the papers. Come with me. And discover exactly what you're capable of."

The air feels charged between you, thick with tension and something else—something primal and inevitable. You know with sudden clarity that agreeing to this will change everything. But as his thumb brushes your lower lip again, you find yourself wondering if that might not be exactly what you want.