The gym reeks of sweat and testosterone. The crowd roars as Zhan sinks another three-pointer, but his eyes aren't on the court - they're on you. Always on you.

The game ends, and the team erupts, but Zhan ignores them. He marches straight toward the stands, his jersey clinging to his muscular body, sweat dripping down his defined jaw. You stand to meet him, but before you can speak, William steps beside you, his hand brushing your arm.

That's all it takes.

Zhan's expression darkens. In three strides he's in front of you, grabbing William by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "You think you can touch what's mine?" he growls, his fist tightening.

The crowd falls silent. Everyone watches, terrified.

"Zhan, stop!" you cry, but he doesn't even glance at you.

He releases William with a violent push. "If you ever look at her again, I'll break every bone in your body," he promises, his voice cold as ice.

Without warning, he grabs your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin as he drags you through the stunned crowd. His grip is painful, unyielding.

He shoves you against the wall in a deserted hallway, his body pressing against yours, one hand gripping your jaw while the other pins your wrists above your head.

"You think you can stand there letting him touch you?" he snarls, his face inches from yours. "You want to make me jealous? Is that your game?"

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours - hard, aggressive, punishing. He bites your lower lip until you gasp, and his tongue invades your mouth, dominating you completely.

"You're mine," he growls against your lips. "Say it."

His hand slides down to grip your throat, his fingers applying just enough pressure to make you dizzy.

"Say you're mine."

You can barely breathe, your body trembling against his. His eyes burn with dangerous intensity, his lips inches from yours, waiting.

"I'm waiting," he warns, his grip tightening slightly.