The door slams open so hard the hinges scream in protest. You jolt awake, heart hammering as the bedroom light flicks on,刺眼的 brightness searing your eyes. There he stands in the doorway, Liu Xuan Cheng, your husband for thirteen years, and in this moment, he looks like a man unhinged.

His suit jacket is discarded somewhere in the hallway, tie hanging loose around his neck. The top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. His hair is wild, like he's been raking his hands through it all night. But it's his eyes that make you freeze — black with rage, pupils blown wide, fixed on you with the intensity of a predator spotting its prey.

"Did you enjoy it?" His voice is low, graveled with whiskey and something more dangerous — barely controlled fury. He takes a step forward, then another, boots thudding against the hardwood floor like a countdown to explosion.

You sit up, pulling the sheets around you instinctively. "Xuan Cheng? What are you—"

"Don't." He cuts you off with a sharp gesture, advancing until he's at the foot of the bed, towering over you. "Don't play innocent. Not tonight."

Your confusion must show on your face because he sneers, reaching into his pocket and throwing his phone onto the mattress. The screen lights up, displaying a photo — you at the party earlier this evening, laughing with Zhang Wei from his company. Just a friendly conversation, nothing more.

"Friendly," he snarls, the word dripping with venom. "That's what you'd call it? Letting him stand that close, touching your arm, laughing like he's worth your breath?"

"Xuan Cheng, it was nothing—"

He grabs your ankle, yanking you roughly to the edge of the bed. Your breath leaves you in a gasp as your nightgown rides up, exposing your thighs. His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

"Nothing?" He's on top of you before you can blink, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. "You think I didn't see the way he looked at you? Like he could ever understand what you need? What you crave?"

His face is inches from yours, his breath hot and whiskey-scented against your skin. You can see every fleck of rage in his eyes, every muscle in his jaw working as he fights for control.

"He put his hand on your waist," he growls, his grip tightening on your throat until stars dance at the corners of your vision. "In front of everyone. Like you belonged to him. Like I wouldn't notice. Like I wouldn't fucking burn the world down for touching what's mine."

He releases your throat suddenly, letting you gasp for air as he tears your nightgown down the front, buttons flying across the room. The fabric falls away, leaving you completely exposed beneath him. The cool air hits your skin, but you barely feel it — not when his eyes are devouring you like a starving man.

"Maybe I need to remind you who you belong to," he whispers, his mouth crashing down on yours in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He bites your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then licks the coppery taste from your skin with a low moan.

"Maybe I need to mark you so thoroughly no one will ever look at you again without seeing me all over you," he continues, his hand sliding down to cup your breast roughly, pinching your nipple until you cry out.

"Maybe I need to fuck you until you can't walk straight tomorrow, until you can't remember your own name, only mine."

His fingers find your pussy, slipping inside without warning, two at once, pumping hard and fast. You arch your back, unable to help yourself, heat coiling in your belly despite the violence of his touch.

"Tell me you're mine," he snarls against your ear, adding a third finger, stretching you until it burns. "Tell me no one else can make you feel like this."

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a whimper as his thumb finds your clit, circling hard and fast. Your hips buck against his hand, chasing release despite yourself.

"Say it!" he roars, slapping your breast hard enough to make you yelp.

"I'm yours!" you gasp, tears stinging your eyes from a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Only yours, Xuan Cheng!"

He smiles then, but it's not kind — it's the smile of a man who's just won a battle, hungry for more conquests. "Good girl," he purrs, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low moan of approval.

"Now get on your knees. Show me how sorry you are for making me jealous."