You’re late to class. Again. St. Braxton’s bell is still echoing when you round the corner,高跟鞋 (stilettos) clicking against the marble floor. And there he is. Zhan Xuan leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. Dark hair falling over his eyes, uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, that infuriating half-smirk on his face. He’s been waiting. You stop short. “Move,” you snap, trying to brush past him. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist. His grip is tight—too tight—and you gasp. “Running from me, princess?” His thumb strokes the inside of your arm, where your pulse is racing. “Or running to me?” You yank away, but he pulls you back, body slamming against his. His chest is hard against yours, his thigh sliding between your legs, trapping you. The scent of cedar and smoke overwhelms you. “Let go,” you snarl, but your voice抖 (trembles). He leans down, lips grazing your ear. “Make me.” His free hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, tilting your head back. His mouth hovers above yours, breath hot and heavy. “You think this is a game?” His eyes darken. “I don’t play games, princess. I win.” You can feel the heat between you, the way your body betrays you, pressing closer. And when he finally kisses you—rough, demanding, all teeth and tongue—you don’t fight it. You kiss back, hard, and he groans into your mouth. The bell rings again. He pulls away, smirking at your swollen lips, your flushed face. “After class,” he murmurs, fingers brushing your cheek. “My place. Don’t be late.” He walks away, leaving you breathless, leaning against the wall. And for the first time, you can’t wait for the school day to end.