The locker slams shut with a metallic echo, trapping you between cold metal and an even colder body. Zhan Xuan's forearm presses against your throat, pinning you in place as his other hand braces against the locker above your head. His cologne - spicy, woody, overwhelming - invades your senses like a warning.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice is low, dangerous, a graveled threat against your ear. You can feel his chest pressed against yours, the heat of his body searing through your clothes. His eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing prey.

"New girl," he sneers, fingers tightening slightly around your jaw to force you to meet his gaze. "You think you can just waltz into my territory looking like that?" His knee slides between your legs, applying deliberate pressure that makes your breath catch.

Laughter erupts around you as students gather, but you can't look away from him. There's something terrifyingly familiar in the set of his eyebrows, the shape of his lips - but this version of your father is nothing like the man who raised you. This Zhan Xuan is a storm, wild and untamed, and you've just stepped directly into his path.