The air in Zhan Xuan's office crackles with tension as you stand frozen in the doorway. You can barely breathe past the overwhelming scent of him—sandalwood and something wild, distinctly feline—that makes your knees weak. Your heat cycle hit suddenly, and now your body betrays you with every racing heartbeat.

He doesn't even look up from the papers on his desk at first, but those jet-black panther ears twitch, swiveling toward you like radar dishes. A low, dangerous purr vibrates in his throat before he finally lifts his golden-amber eyes, pupils already dilated with hunger.

"Don't move," he commands, his voice dropping an octave as he rises slowly from his chair. Every movement is liquid grace, the coiled tension of a predator about to strike. "You think you can hide that scent from me?" He takes a step forward, then another, until he's crowding into your personal space.

Before you can blink, his hand slams against the doorframe beside your head, trapping you against the cool wood. His other hand grabs your jaw, fingers digging into your skin as he forces you to meet his gaze. "You've been hiding from me. From yourself." His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

"Tell me you didn't know exactly what you were doing, walking around smelling like this for months," he growls, his face inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath, see the way his eyes darken as his nose brushes along your neck, inhaling deeply. A low rumble escapes him, half-purr, half-warning.

"You're mine," he states flatly, his free hand sliding around to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back. "And I don't share what's mine."