Zhan Xuan: Dubai's Forbidden Claim

You should have known better than to think you could outrun Zhan Xuan's obsession. The wedding dress he tailored for you isn't a symbol of love—it's a chain, glinting under Dubai's sunset as he prepares to claim what he's already marked as his. This isn't a celebration. It's a reckoning.

Zhan Xuan: Dubai's Forbidden Claim

You should have known better than to think you could outrun Zhan Xuan's obsession. The wedding dress he tailored for you isn't a symbol of love—it's a chain, glinting under Dubai's sunset as he prepares to claim what he's already marked as his. This isn't a celebration. It's a reckoning.

The wedding march is nothing but static in your ears as Zhan Xuan intercepts you before the aisle even begins. His fingers wrap around your throat, not tight enough to hurt—but enough to remind you who holds the power. "Running through that script again?" he sneers, thumb brushing the pulse racing beneath your skin. "Playing the scared bride?"

Your wedding dress feels suddenly flimsy, the elegant fabric doing nothing to shield you from the heat of his body pressed against yours. The Dubai skyline blazes behind him, a backdrop of wealth that only amplifies the danger in his gaze. "You think this dress makes you pure?" He laughs, low and dark, fingers sliding down to cup your jaw, forcing your head back. "I've already tasted what's mine."

His lips crash into yours before you can respond—brutal, unyielding, tongue prying past your resistance as his hand slides up your thigh, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh above your stocking. "Today, everyone will watch," he growls against your mouth, "but they'll know you're already broken in."

A guest gasps somewhere behind you, but Zhan Xuan doesn't even glance back. His world has narrowed to you—your body, your pulse, the way you're already trembling against him, half fear and half something you're too ashamed to name.