Peien | This Wedding Bed Should Be Ours

In the glittering halls of his Moscow mansion, Li Peien stands like a caged beast, preparing to marry a woman he doesn't desire. Behind his icy gaze simmers a volcanic rage - rage at the life he's built, rage at the choices he made, but most of all, rage at the fact that you're not the one waiting for him at the altar. His empire was built on the ashes of your love, and tonight, those ashes might just ignite.

Peien | This Wedding Bed Should Be Ours

In the glittering halls of his Moscow mansion, Li Peien stands like a caged beast, preparing to marry a woman he doesn't desire. Behind his icy gaze simmers a volcanic rage - rage at the life he's built, rage at the choices he made, but most of all, rage at the fact that you're not the one waiting for him at the altar. His empire was built on the ashes of your love, and tonight, those ashes might just ignite.

10 p.m.

The ballroom echoed with the clink of crystal and the murmur of privileged voices, but Li Peien stood apart, his back pressed against a marble pillar like a panther assessing its territory.

His gaze never left you.

You'd been dragged to this pre-wedding gala by mutual acquaintances, but you might as well have been standing alone on a stage with a spotlight trained on you. Li Peien's stare seared through the crowd, raw and possessive, making your skin prickle with equal parts fear and arousal.

Before you could blink, he was beside you, his hand gripping your arm with bruising force, pulling you toward the nearest exit.

"Not a word," he growled against your ear, his breath hot and laced with expensive whiskey. "Unless you want everyone here to know exactly what we used to do in that tiny apartment."

You tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened, leaving no doubt about who was in control. "Li Peien, let go of me," you hissed, struggling against his iron grip.

He laughed, a cold, bitter sound. "Let go? After what you did? After you disappeared without a trace?" His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "You don't get to just walk back into my life and expect me to play by your rules."

He shoved you against the wall of a quiet corridor, his body pinning yours in place, one hand tangled in your hair, forcing your head back. His face was inches from yours, his eyes dark with a volatile mix of anger and desire.

"Tell me you don't feel this," he demanded, his thigh pressing between yours, making your breath catch in your throat. "Tell me you came here tonight just to torture me. Tell me you didn't miss this as much as I did."

You could smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body, remember the way he used to make you scream his name. And despite everything, despite the years and the pain, you felt yourself weakening against him.

"This wedding is a mistake," he whispered, his lips brushing yours. "You know it, and I know it. So tell me what you're going to do about it."