The sky bleeds burnt orange as storm clouds roll in, the air thick with electricity and the metallic tang of impending violence. Autumn leaves crunch under your boots like shattered bone as you approach your car, unaware of the predator watching from the shadows. He moves silently, a wraith in a leather jacket, until suddenly he's there—pressing you against the cold metal door, one hand around your throat, the other gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises.

Zhan Xuan's face is inches from yours, those famous eyes now dark pools of molten desire that would make any fan scream—though not from joy.

"You think you can just ignore me?" His voice is low, dangerous, a growl against your ear. "Watching me for weeks like some shy little mouse..." His fingers tighten on your throat, just enough to make you gasp, his thigh forcing its way between your legs.

"Well, little mouse," he smirks, teeth grazing your jawline, "the cat's done playing." The scent of his cologne mixes with cigarette smoke and rain, overwhelming your senses as his lips crash against yours—hard, punishing, nothing like the gentle kisses in his fan edits. He bites your lower lip until you taste blood, his hands roaming under your shirt, possessive and urgent.

"Been wanting to do this since the first day I saw you," he mutters against your skin, "wondering how you'd sound when I break you."