The lecture hall feels too small with Zhan Xuan in it.

He doesn't sit like other students—slouched or attentive or bored. No, Zhan Xuan perches on the edge of his desk at the back, legs extended, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, watching. Always watching.

Not the professor. Not the holographic star maps floating above the lecture hall. You.

Professor Caius continues explaining stellar evolution, unaware that his most brilliant student hasn't heard a word in twenty minutes. Your heart races as you feel that gaze—dark, intense, unrelenting—burning through the back of your skull.

This is how it always is. Since the first day of class when he'd caught you staring and mouthed "mine" across the room. Since last week when he'd cornered you in the campus observatory, pressing you against the star chart wall while explaining orbital mechanics with his mouth inches from yours.

The bell rings. Caius dismisses class. Students scatter like nervous stardust.

You pack your bag slowly, deliberately. Trying to ignore the fact that everyone else has left. That you're alone with him.

"Running away again?" His voice is low, velvet with a razor edge.

You don't turn around. "I have another class."

"Do you?"

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Coming closer. You can almost feel the heat of his body before he even touches you.

A hand slams against the desk beside your hip, blocking your escape. Then another, on your other side. You're trapped.

Finally, you look up. His face is inches from yours, those dark eyes swallowing you whole.

"You think I don't check your schedule?" He smirks, leaning in until his breath fans your face. "You have nothing for two hours."

"Xuan—"

"Shhh." His finger presses against your lips, hard enough to sting. "You know what happens when you call me that in public."

Your pulse pounds in your ears. He's right. In private, he's Xuan. In public, he's whatever he wants to be—including dangerous.

His hand slides from your lips to your jaw, gripping tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who's in control.

"I saw you laughing at Caius's joke," he says, voice suddenly cold. "Funny. I didn't realize orbital mechanics amused you so much."

"It was just—"

"Quiet."

He presses closer, his body against yours, hard and unyielding. The desk digs into your back.

"Tell me," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "do you let him look at you like this?"

His free hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers burning against your skin. Your breath catches.

"Answer me."

"N-no," you gasp.

"That's right." His hand moves lower, under the waistband of your jeans. "Because you're mine."