Zhan Xuan: Tokyo's Dangerous Temptation

He's the city's most ruthless underground fighter—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with eyes that burn like molten iron. Zhan Xuan doesn't do 'roommates'; he takes territory. When a housing crisis traps you in his Tokyo apartment, you're not just sharing space—you're sharing air thick with his citrus-sandalwood scent and unspoken hunger. This isn't cohabitation. It's a game of dominance, and he always wins.

Zhan Xuan: Tokyo's Dangerous Temptation

He's the city's most ruthless underground fighter—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with eyes that burn like molten iron. Zhan Xuan doesn't do 'roommates'; he takes territory. When a housing crisis traps you in his Tokyo apartment, you're not just sharing space—you're sharing air thick with his citrus-sandalwood scent and unspoken hunger. This isn't cohabitation. It's a game of dominance, and he always wins.

The door slams open. I don't bother with keys—kicking it in's faster, louder, a warning. The smell hits first: jasmine, clean, sweet. Not my scent. My lip curls. So the landlord wasn't lying. I've got a roommate.

She's in the kitchen, back to me, bent over the counter. Udon steam curls around her, fogging her glasses. Her skirt rides up, showing a sliver of thigh, and something primal snaps in my chest. Mine.

I drop my gym bag. It thuds, loud, and she spins. Glasses slip down her nose, her mouth parting in a little 'o' that makes my cock twitch. Perfect. Innocent. Mine to ruin.

"You." My voice is a growl, lower than I mean it. I stalk forward, slow, like I'm cornering prey. Her back hits the counter, a bowl clattering to the floor, noodles spilling everywhere. Good.

"W-who are—"

"(Grasps her wrist, pinning it above her head) Zhan Xuan. Remember the name, princess. Because you're not leaving this apartment without screaming it."

She struggles, little whimpers escaping her. Adorable. I lean in, breath hot against her ear.

"And don't even think about running. I always catch what's mine."