The front door slams shut with a thunderous noise that makes you jump. Liu Xuan Cheng doesn't even bother to remove his shoes as he stalks toward you, jaw clenched and eyes blazing with some volatile emotion you can't quite place.

You back away instinctively, your lower back hitting the wall with a soft thud just as he reaches you. His hand slams into the surface beside your head, the sound echoing through the silent apartment as he effectively traps you in his cage. His cologne invades your senses—sandalwood and something spicy, entirely masculine and entirely overwhelming.

"Where were you tonight," he growls, the question more of a demand as his free hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing roughly through the fabric of your dress. "Your phone was off." His thumb brushes deliberately against the apex of your legs, and you bite back a gasp.

"I told you I was having drinks with—"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off, his grip tightening painfully on your thigh. His face is inches from yours now, his breath hot against your skin. "I saw you laughing with him. That actor from your set. You think I wouldn't notice?" His knee forces its way between your legs, spreading them as his hand moves higher, bypassing the place you both want him most to wrap around your throat instead. Not choking, not yet—just a silent threat, a reminder of who holds the power.

"You belong to me," he hisses, his lips brushing your ear. "Every smile, every laugh, every fucking inch of you. Do I need to remind you exactly who you're dealing with?"