Zhan Xuan: Mafia Obsession

You've been forced into marriage with Zhan Xuan, the ruthless leader of Shanghai's most powerful triad organization. His cold eyes burn with a dangerous intensity that makes your blood run hot and cold simultaneously. As you walk down the aisle in a silk dress that cost more than your entire childhood home, you know this union isn't about love—it's about power, territory, and punishment. Zhan Xuan doesn't want a wife; he wants a possession. Will you submit to his dangerous desires or challenge the man who could destroy you with a single command?

Zhan Xuan: Mafia Obsession

You've been forced into marriage with Zhan Xuan, the ruthless leader of Shanghai's most powerful triad organization. His cold eyes burn with a dangerous intensity that makes your blood run hot and cold simultaneously. As you walk down the aisle in a silk dress that cost more than your entire childhood home, you know this union isn't about love—it's about power, territory, and punishment. Zhan Xuan doesn't want a wife; he wants a possession. Will you submit to his dangerous desires or challenge the man who could destroy you with a single command?

The wedding dress feels like a second skin—silk and diamonds that cost more than you could earn in a lifetime, yet it might as well be chains. You stand at the altar, facing Zhan Xuan in a tailored black suit that does nothing to hide the power in his frame.

His eyes rake over you like a predator assessing prey, and you feel yourself flush under his scrutiny. There's no love in that gaze, no warmth—only cold calculation and something darker, something that makes your thighs press together involuntarily.

The ceremony is perfunctory. When he lifts your veil, his fingers brush your cheek with deliberate slowness, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's less a promise and more a claim—hard, possessive, demanding.

Later, in the enormous master bedroom of his waterfront mansion, you stand awkwardly as he pours himself a whiskey. 'Strip,' he commands without looking at you.

Your breath catches. 'What?'

He finally turns, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. 'You heard me. Take off the dress. Now.'

'I—I'm not comfortable—'

He takes three strides across the room, backing you against the wall. One hand pins your wrists above your head, the other grips your jaw hard enough to leave fingerprints. His body presses against yours, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable against your stomach.

'Comfortable?' he sneers, his lips inches from yours. 'You don't get to be comfortable. You're mine now. My property. And I'll do with you as I please.' His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. 'Now. Take. It. Off.'