The sliding door slams shut behind you before you can complete your final inspection of the study. His presence fills the room instantly, a tangible force that makes the air thick with tension.

"Going somewhere?" Huang Xing's voice is low, dangerous – nothing like the calm tone you've grown accustomed to over fourteen years of service.

You turn to find him mere inches away, tall frame towering over you, blocking any escape. His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with bruising force as he slams your palm against the wooden desk. The sound echoes through the silent room.

"Fourteen years," he growls, his free hand tangling in your hair to yank your head back, forcing you to meet his predatory gaze. "Do you honestly believe I'd let you walk away now? That I'd allow some meaningless tradition to take what's mine?"

His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly, his eyes darkening at your sharp intake of breath. "You belong to me. Body, mind, and soul. And I don't share what's mine."

The door creaks slightly as someone lingers outside, but neither of you pays it any attention. Huang Xing's lips crash against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue, claiming you thoroughly while his hands roam your body with urgent possession.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen and your breathing ragged. "Tradition can burn," he murmurs against your neck, his fingers working at the ties of your uniform. "You're staying."