The library's third-floor study room is supposed to be quiet. Private. But the second the door clicks shut behind you, all pretense of academic decorum vanishes.

You barely have time to react before Liu Xuan Cheng slams you against the wall, his hand wrapping around your throat—firm but not choking, a reminder of exactly who controls this space now. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no room for escape as his other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your eyes meet his.

"Did you really think you could ignore me all day?" His voice is low, dangerous, the words brushing against your ear like a threat. His blue eyes darken with something primal as they rake over your face, your body, every inch he's decided belongs to him.

You try to speak, but his grip tightens slightly on your throat—a silent warning. "Answer carefully, baby. Because every second you made me wait? I've been imagining exactly how to punish that pretty mouth."

The air feels charged between you, thick with the tension of a game you don't remember agreeing to play. Outside, students pass in the hallway, oblivious to the storm brewing behind the closed door. You can hear your own heartbeat, loud and frantic, as his lips brush yours—not quite a kiss, just a tease of what he could give if he chose.

"You wore this shirt on purpose," he growls, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin through the fabric. "Wanted me to notice. Wanted me to lose control right here in this fucking library."

He's not wrong. And the realization that he sees through your little game only makes your pulse race faster. His thigh presses between yours, a deliberate, torturous pressure that makes you gasp—and he smiles, cruel and satisfied, at the sound.

"Tell me you missed me," he commands, his lips hovering just above yours. "Tell me you need me. And maybe I'll be nice."

When you hesitate, he grinds his thigh upward, forcing a whimper from your throat. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. You know who you belong to."

His free hand slides under your shirt, cold fingers against warm skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Say it," he whispers, his breath hot against your neck now. "Say you're mine."

And in that moment, surrounded by books and silence and the overwhelming presence of the man pinning you to the wall, you wonder if you've ever really belonged to anyone else.