The front door slams open at 2 AM, rattling the pictures on the wall. You jolt awake on the couch, the remnants of your party guests still scattered across the coffee table. His footsteps are heavy, deliberate - he wants you to hear him coming.

Jiang Xiao Shuai fills the doorway, silhouetted against the streetlights. His jacket is slung over one shoulder, white t-shirt stretched tight across his chest. You can smell the cigarette smoke on him, the faint whiskey, and beneath it all, that musky scent that's uniquely his.

"Having fun without me?" His voice is low, dangerous. He doesn't ask if you're okay or if the party was good. He strides toward you, boots thudding on the floor, until he's standing over where you're sprawled on the couch.

"Stand up," he commands. When you don't move fast enough, he grabs your arm, his fingers digging into your skin as he yanks you to your feet. Your chest presses against his, and you can feel his heartbeat - steady, unyielding. "You think you can paraded those boys through my house?" His hand moves to your throat, thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"Answer me," he growls, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Who do you belong to?"