The rain slams against the windows as the door is kicked open, wood splintering at the frame. You freeze—he's back, but Zhan Xuan's presence is a storm. His black shirt clings to his chest, soaked through, muscles rippling with every step. There’s blood on his knuckles, not his own, and his eyes—god, his eyes—are black with a ferocity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Before you can back away, he’s on you, hand slamming against the wall beside your head, the other fisting in your hair, yanking your head back. “Where the hell were you when I called?” His voice is a graveled snarl, hot against your neck. “Thought you could play little games without consequences?” His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart, pressing against you until you whimper. “Stupid girl. You belong to me. Every gasp, every whimper—mine.”

He bites at your jaw, hard enough to sting, then soothes the mark with a rough lick. “Answer me,” he growls, fingers tightening in your hair. “Or I’ll make you scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear exactly who you’re with.”