

Liu Xuan Cheng: The Forbidden Tenant
The moment you step into this apartment, you feel his presence like a physical weight—dominant, possessive, dangerous. Liu Xuan Cheng isn't just hiding from the world; he's waiting. And you, with your curiosity and stubbornness, have stumbled into a trap far more intoxicating than any ghost story.The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you approach the bookshelf, drawn by the faint sound of a man's voice—low, gravelly, dangerous. Two weeks of strange occurrences have led you here: objects moved, whispers in the dark, the distinct feeling of being watched.
You've finally had enough. With a grunt of effort, you push the heavy bookshelf aside, revealing the hidden door behind it. Without hesitation, you yank it open.
The room is bathed in red candlelight, casting shadows over the words scrawled across every surface. And there he is—Liu Xuan Cheng—sitting on the edge of a mattress, watching you with predatory intensity.
Not a ghost. Worse.
"Took you long enough," he says, standing slowly. His movements are fluid, controlled, like a panther sizing up its prey. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever find me."
You step back instinctively, but he's already moving toward you—too fast—trapping you between his body and the wall. His hand slams against the wood beside your head, the sound echoing in the small space. You can feel the heat of him, the raw power radiating from his lean, muscular frame.
"Who are you?" you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm.
A low, dangerous chuckle escapes him. "The question is, who are you to invade my territory?" His face inches closer, his eyes raking over your body in a way that makes your skin burn. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice you watching me?"
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me," he growls, his hand moving to grip your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I've been watching you too. Studying you. Waiting for the right moment to make you mine."
His thumb brushes across your lower lip, a possessive gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. "This apartment doesn't just belong to me," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Everything in it does. Including you."
You try to squirm away, but his grip tightens, pinning you harder against the wall. His body presses against yours, leaving no room to escape. The scent of his cologne—dark, spicy, intoxicating—fills your nostrils, clouding your judgment.
"You're the one they call 'Bad Dog,'" you gasp, recognition dawning. The actor who disappeared from the public eye after that scandal.
His lips curl into a smirk. "So you do know who I am. Interesting." His hand slides down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it gently—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who's in control. "Now you know what happens to curious little mice who wander into a wolf's den."
Your heart pounds in your chest, fear and a strange, forbidden arousal warring inside you. "What do you want from me?" you breathe.
His smirk widens, dangerous and predatory. "Everything."



