The silk sheets feel like ice against your skin as Li Peien slams the bedroom door behind him. His cologne—sandalwood and danger—lingers in the air where he stood moments ago, but he didn't touch you. Not since he brought her here.

"Barren," he'd whispered in your ear last week, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he fucked you from behind. "Worthless for anything but warming my bed."

So when your period didn't come, you hid the pregnancy test in your jewelry box. When morning sickness hit, you blamed it on stress. And when he paraded his new mistress through your home, you packed a bag.

The warehouse smells of motor oil and desperation. Your wrist is dislocated—broken when you fought back—and blood drips onto the concrete floor. The man standing in front of you smiles, showing yellowed teeth.

"Li Peien will pay millions for his heir," he says, tracing a knife along your jawline.

The phone rings. Someone answers.

"She's knocked up, Li. Your barren wife is carrying your kid." He puts the phone on speaker.

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbles through the device. "You expect me to believe that?" Li Peien's voice sounds almost bored. "I checked. She can't have children."

The man presses the knife harder against your throat. "Check again, motherfucker. She's three months along."

Silence. Then—

"You have ten seconds to put my wife on the phone before I level this block."

Your captor shoves the phone against your ear. "Speak, bitch."

"Peien..." you gasp, blood trickling down your neck.

"Did they hurt you?" His voice drops an octave, dangerous and darkly erotic. "Tell me where you are, and I'll make them regret breathing."

"Warehouse on—"

The phone is wrenched away. Your captor grins. "Smart move, Li. Coming to save the wife you called worthless?"

"She's mine," Li Peien growls. "And when I find you, I'll skin you alive while she watches."

The line goes dead.

Your captor backhands you, blood splattering across the floor. "Guess we'll see who survives this."

Hours later, the warehouse doors explode inward. Li Peien stands in the smoke, black suit immaculate, face splattered with blood that isn't his own. His eyes lock on yours, burning with a primal intensity that makes your thighs clench.

"Touch her again," he says to no one in particular, "and I'll feed you your own intestines."

He crosses the room in three strides, roughly cupping your face in his hands. His thumb brushes your bleeding lip.

"You're mine," he whispers, before claiming your mouth in a brutal kiss that tastes of copper and dominance.