The last note fades from your lips, the applause thunderous in your ears. You barely register it, your skin prickling with that familiar sensation - being watched. That gaze has been burning into you for weeks, silent but suffocating in its intensity.

You step offstage, your manager rushing to congratulate you, but your attention drifts to the corner table where he always sits. Empty.

A chill runs down your spine. He's not there.

"Looking for someone?" A low, graveled voice behind you sends heat coiling through your body.

You spin, heart racing, to find him standing inches away - Zhan Xuan. The man who's haunted your performances, your thoughts, your dreams. His black silk shirt strained across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. In his hand, that familiar blood-red rose.

Before you can speak, he backs you against the wall, one hand planted beside your head, the other tangling in your hair to yank your face upward. His scent - sandalwood and something dangerous - overwhelms your senses.

"You think I'd keep sending flowers forever?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You belong to me. Been mine since the first night I heard you sing." His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against you as his mouth hovers above yours.

"Now everyone's going to know it."