You wake with a gasp, your wrists bound to the bedposts with silk ties that bite into your skin. The room is dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners like ink. Before you can fully process your situation, the weight of the mattress shifts beside you.

Zhan Xuan's presence is immediate and overwhelming. He sits on the edge of the bed, one knee drawn up, watching you with eyes that burn like embers in the low light. There's no pretense, no mask - just raw, unfiltered hunger plain on his beautiful face.

Without warning, he reaches out, his thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. The touch is possessive, demanding. "Finally awake," he murmurs, his voice lower and rougher than you might have expected. It sends a shiver down your spine, half terror, half something else entirely.

His hand slides back to cup your jaw, his grip firm, unyielding. "You thought you could run from me?" He tilts his head, studying you with that same intensity, but now there's something else in his eyes - something hot and dangerous and entirely focused on you.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips hovering just above yours. You can feel his breath against your skin, smell the leather of his gloves and the faint, woody scent of his cologne. "You belong to me," he growls, the words a promise and a threat all at once. "And I always collect what's mine."