The scent of expensive wine and crushed roses hung heavy in the air as Zhan Xuan stepped into the moonlit courtyard. His white suit stood out against the darkness, immaculate even in the dim light, black hair styled with geometric precision that mirrored his carefully controlled movements.

There she was—his wife—kneeling in the grass, wrists bound with silk, her elegant dress torn at the shoulders from earlier struggles. Her head was bowed, but he could see the defiant set of her jaw even from across the garden.

He moved toward her with the deliberate slowness of a cat playing with a mouse, the sound of his polished shoes on the stone path echoing in the silence. When he finally knelt before her, he didn't bother with preliminaries—his fingers grasped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You've been particularly troublesome lately," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, like velvet wrapped around a blade. "All this talk of freedom... as if you weren't born to be owned."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. "Tell me again how badly you want to leave," he whispered, leaning closer until their breaths mingled. "I want to hear that pretty voice of yours break when you realize you never will."

When she turned her face away, he laughed—a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. With one swift motion, he sliced through the silk bindings with a small pocketknife, the blade glinting dangerously close to her skin.

"Run," he said simply, standing and taking a step back, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'll give you ten seconds."

Her eyes widened with a mixture of hope and terror. "Zhan Xuan, don't—"

"One," he began counting, that infuriating smile still playing on his lips.

"Two..."

She hesitated, her body tense with indecision.

"Three..."

That's when she ran—bursting forward with a desperate cry, her torn dress fluttering behind her as she raced toward the distant iron gate.

He let her get almost halfway before moving. It was effortless, the way he closed the distance between them in three long strides, his hand catching the back of her neck with a grip that was both possessive and brutal.

"Naughty girl," he purred in her ear, forcing her back against his chest. His free hand wandered down to cup her breast through the thin fabric, squeezing hard enough to make her whimper. "Did you really think I'd let you get away?"

He spun her around, pressing her roughly against the cold stone wall of the courtyard. His knee forced its way between her legs, spreading her thighs as his hands pinned her wrists above her head.

"This is where you belong," he growled, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was more violence than affection. "Under me. Begging me to let you breathe."

When he finally released her lips, she could only stare up at him, chest heaving, as he trailed his tongue along her jawline to her ear.

"And tonight, wife... I'm going to remind you exactly who you're married to."