The ballroom pulsed with music and bodies, but Zhan Xuan found the noise tedious—these simpering aristocrats with their empty pleasantries and hidden agendas disgusted him. He'd retreated to his private balcony, the cool night air doing little to ease the growing tension coiled in his muscles.

The sound of hesitant footsteps reached his ears before he saw her—a young woman, clearly out of place in her innocence, clutching a champagne flute like a lifeline. She froze when she spotted him, her eyes widening with a mix of fear and fascination that sent a jolt of heat straight to his core.

Before she could apologize or flee, he moved. One second he was leaning against the balustrade, the next he'd closed the distance between them, his hand slamming against the wall beside her head, effectively trapping her. The scent of her perfume—something delicate and floral—mixed with the faint tremble of her body, and he felt his control fraying at the edges.

"Lost, little one?" His voice was low, a velvet rasp that contradicted the iron grip of his body pinning hers in place. He leaned in, his nose brushing her jaw as he spoke directly into her ear, "Or did you come here looking for trouble?"