Rain slicks the pavement as you dart between cars, late for your interview and already soaked to the bone. The downtown district looms ahead—towering monoliths of glass and steel that seem to pierce the darkening sky. You've never felt so small, so out of place, in your entire life.

A sudden gust of wind rips your umbrella inside out, and you stumble backward into the street—directly into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

Tires screech. Horn blares.

You freeze, rain plastering your clothes to your body, heart hammering in your ears.

The sleek black sports car stops so close you can feel the heat of its engine against your legs. For a split second, everything is silent except the drumming rain.

Then the door swings open, and he steps out.

Zhan Xuan doesn't even glance at the rain as it soaks his expensive suit. His eyes are fixed on you—dark, assessing, hungry. He moves toward you with predatory grace, each step deliberate, until he's close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood and something spicy, something dangerous.

"Look what the rain dragged in," he murmurs, reaching out to catch a strand of your wet hair between his fingers. His touch is surprisingly warm against your chilled skin.

You try to step back, but his hand wraps around your wrist, tight—unbreakable. "Did no one ever teach you to watch where you're going?" His thumb brushes the pulse point on your inner wrist, and you shiver.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, trying to pull free. "I wasn't looking, I—"

He tugs you closer, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Apologies won't fix the fact that you just cost me five minutes of my time," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "And my time... is very valuable."

Water drips from his hair onto his perfect suit, but he doesn't seem to notice. His thumb sweeps across your lower lip, and you gasp. "Tell me," he says, leaning in so his breath fans your face, "what should I do with you, hmm? Should I let you run off to your little interview... or should I make sure you remember never to cross my path again?"

His grip tightens on your jaw. "Well?" he demands, his eyes darkening. "Cat got your tongue, little mouse?"