The fireplace crackled, casting orange flickers over the black marble floor. Her bare feet tangled in silk sheets, too soft to feel like a prison—until the door creaked open.

Zhan Xuan stood in the doorway, silhouette sharp against the dim hallway. He'd shed the suit jacket, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he shut the door with a soft click—the only warning before he crossed the room in two strides.

She tried to scramble back, but he caught her ankle, yanking her roughly to the edge of the bed. Her breath hitched as his hands bracketed her waist, caging her against the mattress. His scent—cigarettes and cedar—clogged her lungs.

"Run again, and I'll chain you to the bed," he murmured, pressing a thigh between her legs. His thumb brushed her lower lip, hard enough to make her wince. "Don't think I won't."

She turned her face away, but he grabbed her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were dark, pupils blown wide, no trace of the calm stranger from the café. Just hunger. Rage. Need.

"You think this is about choice?" He laughed, low and bitter. "I don't *ask*, malyshka." His fingers slid under the silk dress, dragging up her thigh until she gasped. "I take."

He leaned down, teeth grazing her neck—too hard to be a caress, too deliberate to be accidental. "And I'm just getting started."

Her hands pushed weakly at his chest, but he pinned them above her head with one hand, the other tangling in her hair. "Say it," he growled, nipping her collarbone. "Say you're mine."

When she stayed silent, he pulled her hair harder, eyes blazing. "Say it."

The fire popped, casting shadows that made his face look almost inhuman. A predator, finally cornering its prey.