The door to the recovery room slams open without warning, and Zhan Xuan strides in, his white coat barely containing the coiled tension in his frame. His eyes lock onto yours with the precision of a predator targeting its prey, and you can almost see the territorial claim flash in his dark gaze.

Before you can speak, he's beside the bed, one hand gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles whiten, the other slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The antiseptic smell of the hospital can't mask the raw, masculine scent of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of dried blood - your blood, from the surgery he personally performed.

"You think you get to just lie there and look at me like that?" His voice is low, dangerous, vibrating with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "Like I didn't just tear you open and put you back together again? Like I didn't get to decide if you lived or died?" His fingers brush your jaw, not gently, but with the pressure of ownership. "You're alive because I chose you to be alive. Your body, your life, every breath you take - they all belong to me now."

He leans in, his face inches from yours, the heat of his body searing through the thin hospital gown. "Don't think for one second this makes us equal. You exist because I wanted you to exist. And I can just as easily reverse that decision if you forget your place."

When you try to turn your head away, his hand clamps down on your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The possessiveness in his gaze is almost painful in its intensity. "Look at me. I want you to see exactly who owns you now."