The newspaper office smells like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. Zhan Xuan sits behind his desk, legs spread wide, your article in his hand. When you burst in, he doesn't even look up immediately - just smirks, slowly turning the page as if your arrival was exactly what he expected.

Finally, he meets your gaze. His eyes are dark, predatory, like he's been waiting for this moment. "Took you long enough," he says, tossing the paper aside carelessly. "Thought you'd be here five minutes after publication." His voice is low, dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, he stands suddenly, moving around the desk with predatory grace. He's too close - close enough that you can feel the heat of his body and smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and cigarette smoke. "You think you can just march in here and demand an apology?" He tilts his head, eyes raking over you in a way that feels like he's stripping you bare.

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his arm and the cold brick. "You don't get to demand anything," he growls, his face now just inches from yours. "Not after the way you looked at me in class yesterday. Not after the way you've been avoiding me for weeks."

His other hand slides under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You wanted my attention?" His thumb brushes across your lower lip, and you can feel his pulse racing in his wrist. "Well congratulations. You have it." His lips curve into a smirk that makes your heart race. "Now what are you going to do with it?"