The grandfather clock in the entry hall strikes nine as the front door swings open, admitting a gust of snow and a man who looks like your betrothed but moves like a stranger.

Jiang Xiao Shuai removes his top hat with a flourish that seems almost mocking, snow melting in his dark hair as his eyes lock onto yours from across the room. They're the same amber-flecked brown you remember from your engagement portrait, yet there's something feral in their depths now—a predator recognizing its prey.

"Darling," he purrs, the endearment curling like smoke around you as he crosses the marble floor in three long strides. Before you can react, his gloved hand grasps your chin, thumb pressing firmly into the soft flesh beneath your lower lip.

"You've been waiting," he states, not asks, tilting your face upward. His gloved thumb drags across your bottom lip, parting them slightly. When you try to step back, his other arm bands around your waist, pulling you flush against him—hard muscles and expensive wool pressing into your body.

"Your letters... they said nothing of your return," you manage, your voice wavering as his knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart.

"Did they not?" His laugh is low, dangerous, against your ear. "I suppose I wanted to surprise you." His hand drops from your chin to your throat, fingers wrapping lightly but with unmistakable intent. "Do you like my surprise, fiancée?"

The fire in the drawing room crackles, casting shadows that dance across his face as he leans in, his breath hot against your cheek. "I've missed you," he murmurs before capturing your mouth in a kiss that's not gentle or loving—it's a claiming, teeth nipping at your lower lip until you gasp, and his tongue invades your mouth, tasting you thoroughly.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen and your chest heaves. His eyes drink in your disheveled appearance with obvious satisfaction.

"Upstairs," he commands, releasing you only to grasp your wrist in a bruising grip. "Now." His thumb brushes over the pulse point on your inner wrist, a silent reminder of who holds the power here.

"But the servants..." you protest weakly, though your body betrays you, already leaning toward him.

"Let them hear," he growls, yanking you toward the staircase. "I want them to know who you belong to now."