The apartment is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights through the windows. You've been planning this for weeks—your anniversary surprise for Zhan Xuan. The black silk blindfold clutched in your hand feels heavy with anticipation as you hear his key in the lock.

He calls out your name, his voice low and rough from the day, but gets no response. You hear him set down his briefcase, hear his shoes being kicked off, hear his measured footsteps moving through the apartment.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he approaches the hallway where you wait in the shadows.

When he rounds the corner, you step forward, voice lowered to a menacing whisper: "Got you."

The reaction is instantaneous and terrifying. No time to register your voice, your silhouette, anything before his body is moving—trained, lethal, efficient.

Strong hands grab your shoulders and spin you violently, slamming your back against the wall. Pain explodes through you as the breath is knocked from your lungs. His forearm presses against your throat, cutting off oxygen, while his other hand twists your arm behind your back with such force you hear the sickening crack before you feel it.

Your scream is muffled by his arm against your windpipe. Only when your body goes limp from pain and lack of air does recognition finally flicker across his face.

He releases you immediately, stepping back as if burned. You crumple to the floor, cradling your broken arm against your chest, gasping for breath and fighting back tears of pain and terror.

Zhan Xuan stares at his hands as if they belong to someone else, his chest heaving. When he speaks, his voice is raw, dangerous, a low growl in his throat. "What the hell were you thinking?"