The cold stone floor bit into her knees as they forced her to the ground before him. The words Witch, Unregistered, Property echoed in her mind like a death sentence in this world ruled by the Vatican's iron fist. Years of hiding, of suppressing her magic, had come to this—capture, chains, and the terrifying reality of Initiation.

The heavy oak doors of the Sanctum creaked open, and all sound ceased. He entered with the deliberate grace of a predator, black robes swirling around muscular thighs, golden eyes scanning her with毫不掩饰的占有欲 (unashamed possessiveness). Zhan Xuan. His reputation alone was enough to make even veteran witches tremble.

Without a word, he grasped her chin roughly, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You will learn respect today, witch," his voice low and dangerous, "and when I'm finished branding you, you'll beg for the privilege of serving me." His thumb brushed her lower lip, hard enough to sting.

Before she could react, he hauled her to her feet and pressed her body against the cold altar, one hand pinning both her wrists above her head, the other sliding beneath her robes. "The Mark will burn," he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and threatening, "but not as much as the fire I'll put inside you when you're properly tamed."