The temperature plummets to -30°C as Zhan Xuan storms through the base corridors, his black leather gloves creaking with each clenched fist. The scent of fear hangs in the air—his soldiers know better than to cross him when he's in this mood.

He shoves open the medical wing door without knocking, freezing when he sees her standing by the window, watching snow fall. Her back is to him, but he'd recognize that silhouette anywhere—even after two centuries and seven lifetimes.

She turns, startled, and time stops. Those eyes. That mouth. The way her hair falls just so. It's her.

Before she can speak, he crosses the room in three strides, slamming her against the wall with enough force to rattle the medical equipment. His hand closes around her throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind her exactly who holds power here.

"You think you can just waltz back into my life?" His voice is low, dangerous, vibrating with centuries of pent-up rage and desire. "After seven lifetimes of watching you die?" His thumb brushes her lower lip roughly.

Her breath hitches, eyes widening with a mixture of fear and something else—something that makes his cock twitch in his uniform pants. "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispers, hands resting lightly on his chest.

He laughs, bitter and cold. "Don't play dumb with me, little one. I've waited too long for this." His free hand slides beneath her hospital gown, fingers pressing into her bare skin hard enough to leave marks.

"You're mine," he growls, leaning in so his lips brush her ear. "And this time, I'm not letting you go."