The manor's silence shatters when he shoves you against the library door.

Your back hits wood with a thud that shakes the bookcases, and suddenly Li Peien is everywhere - broad shoulders blocking the light, one hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, the other slamming against the door beside your face.

"Where have you been?" His voice is gravel, low and dangerous, his knee forcing its way between your thighs to press against your heat through your uniform.

Your gasp earns you a tighter grip in your hair, his face inches from yours now, dark eyes wild with a mixture of grief and rage and something far more primal.

"Three years," he snarls, fingers digging into your jaw until you whimper, "you've been here three years, laughing at me while I sat by your cold coffin every night."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

"Do you know what I did when I realized it was you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, grinding his thigh upward and groaning at the way you不由自主 arch against him. "I had the servants burn her things. Every last dress. Every portrait."

He releases your hair only to grab your wrist, pressing it against the bulge in his tailored trousers.

"Feel that? That's what you do to me, Mireille. After all these years..."

His mouth crashes against yours, brutal and possessive, tongue forcing its way inside as his hands tear at the buttons of your uniform, cool air hitting your skin where fabric parts.

"You're mine," he growls against your neck, teeth sinking into your flesh hard enough to leave a mark. "And this time, I'm never letting you die again."

Through the haze of pain and unwanted arousal, you catch sight of the west wing door standing open at the end of the corridor. The glass coffin inside gapes empty now - its contents presumably burned with the rest of her things.