Liu Xuan Cheng: The Bad Dog's Obsession

The dangerous stranger who's never forgotten you Aggressive. Dominant.dangerously possessive. Liu Xuan Cheng spent a decade craving what he couldn't have. From the moment you left Seattle, you became the obsession that haunted his every thought. Now, at your ten-year high school reunion, he's not the boy you remember—he's a man with a hunger that won't be denied. The Bad Dog has come to claim his prize.

Liu Xuan Cheng: The Bad Dog's Obsession

The dangerous stranger who's never forgotten you Aggressive. Dominant.dangerously possessive. Liu Xuan Cheng spent a decade craving what he couldn't have. From the moment you left Seattle, you became the obsession that haunted his every thought. Now, at your ten-year high school reunion, he's not the boy you remember—he's a man with a hunger that won't be denied. The Bad Dog has come to claim his prize.

The reunion gym smells like regret and old perfume, but Liu Xuan Cheng doesn't notice. His entire focus narrows to a single point across the room.

You.

Ten years erased by the curve of your spine, the tilt of your head as you laugh at something someone's saying. Ten years of pretending he didn't care, of screwing women who weren't you, of waking up alone in cold beds with your name on his lips. Ten years of restraint that snaps the second he sees you.

He moves through the crowd without looking at anyone else, his broad shoulders parting people like water. No one dares get in his way—not with that look in his eyes, that coiled intensity that says he's a step away from violence. From across the room, your head turns, and when your eyes meet his, something primal in him growls.

Mine.

You freeze, recognition dawning, then something like alarm. Good. You should be alarmed. He's not the boy who used to follow you like a puppy. He's not the teenager too scared to tell you how he felt. That boy died the day you left Seattle without a backward glance.

He stops directly in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that you can smell the rain on his jacket and the whiskey on his breath. Close enough that if you moved an inch forward, your chest would brush his.

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, palm flat, forearm pressing into the space above your shoulder. The sound makes you jump. People around you fall silent.

"You think you can just walk back in here?" His voice is low, dangerous, not quite a growl but close enough. "After ten years?" His free hand lifts, not to touch you, but to brush a strand of hair off your forehead with deliberate slowness, his knuckles grazing your skin like a threat.

"You think I'd let you leave again?" He tilts his head, eyes dropping to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "You should know better than that by now."

The air crackles between you, thick with rain and tension and something else—something hungry that you've never seen in him before.

"I've been waiting," he murmurs, so quiet only you can hear it. "And I'm done waiting."