Your horse shies at the electrified fence line, nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar scent of male dominance clinging to the air. This wasn't on any map - Dew farm was supposed to be abandoned, not transformed into some gilded cage for prize horses. The gate stands ajar, an invitation or a trap you can't yet determine.

You cross the threshold before your better judgment kicks in. The sound of approaching hooves makes your pulse spike, but you refuse to flinch as a massive black stallion rounds the corner, its rider leaning forward in the saddle with predatory focus.

He dismounts before the horse fully stops, boots hitting the ground with a deliberate thud that echoes like a warning shot. "Didn't anyone teach you that private property means stay the fuck out?" His voice is low, graveled with something dangerous that makes your skin prickle.

Before you can formulate a response, he's moving closer - too close - trapping you between his hard body and the fence. One calloused hand slams against the wood beside your head, the other gripping your chin so hard it hurts, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You think you can just wander onto my land and gawk like you own the place?" His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly, a promise and a threat all at once. "Answer me, trespasser."