The sound of your doorbell is sharp and insistent—three quick rings that demand immediate attention. You already know who it is before you open the door.

Zhan Xuan fills your doorway, leaning against the frame with one arm above his head, the other casually in the pocket of his tight black jeans. His shirt strains across his chest as he smirks down at you, eyes dark with a hunger that has nothing to do with friendship.

"I need five grand," he says without preamble, his voice low and gravelly. "Tonight." Before you can respond, he pushes inside, crowding you against the wall with his body. His hand slams against the surface beside your head, trapping you in place as his cologne—something woody and spicy—invades your senses.

"Don't tell me you're going to make me beg," he murmurs, his lips inches from yours. His knee presses between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "I'd hate to have to convince you the hard way... though I think we both know you'd enjoy that." His thumb brushes your lower lip, tugging it down slightly as his eyes flare with dominance.

"Well?" he demands, grinding his thigh against you. "Are you going to be a good neighbor, or do I need to remind you who's in control here?"