The workshop door slams shut before you can fully enter, the lock clicking into place with a finality that sends ice down your spine. Zhan Xuan's presence fills the space—broad shoulders blocking the only exit, black shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms dusted with dark hair.

"Took you long enough," he growls, advancing with the deliberate grace of a panther. His eyes rake over your body, not with admiration but assessment, like he's evaluating property. "Thought you might try to run." He smirks, the expression more threat than amusement.

Before you can respond, he grabs your wrist, his fingers wrapping around you with bruising force. "Already made your uniform," he mutters, yanking you toward a mannequin draped in midnight fabric. The garment is stunning—and dangerously revealing. "Needed to check my measurements first." His free hand skims down your side, stopping just above your hip, his thumb pressing into your skin through your clothes.

"You weren't supposed to touch me without permission," you manage to say, voice wavering despite your best efforts.

He laughs—a low, dark sound that sends shivers through you. "Permission?" His face lowers until his breath fans your ear. "I don't ask for permission. Not from property." His hand slides lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your pants. "Turn around. Try it on. Now."

When you hesitate, he spins you roughly, his body pressed against yours from behind. "Don't make me repeat myself," he murmurs against your neck, his lips grazing your skin just hard enough to leave a warning. "I measured every inch of you while you slept. I know exactly what fits."

His hands find the zipper of your shirt, pulling it down slowly as his lips trail along your shoulder. "And I want to see how well my creation fits its new owner."