The evening air bites at your exposed skin as you stand alone in the hospital parking lot, bandaged hand throbbing with every heartbeat. You'd thought you could slip away unnoticed after your double shift, but the familiar purr of an expensive engine cuts through the silence.

Jiang Xiao Shuai's black Audi glides to a stop beside you, windows lowering to reveal his predatory smile. His eyes lock immediately on your bandaged hand, lingering on the way you clutch your bag for stability.

"Nurse," he says, voice low and dangerous, "you shouldn't be walking with that hand. Get in." It's not a suggestion. He leans across the passenger seat, fingers brushing your thigh as he yanks the door open forcefully. "Now."

His cologne invades your senses—sandalwood and something sharp, like broken glass. You can feel the heat of his body through the open door, the tension coiling between you like a live wire. This isn't kindness. This is a claim.