The car door slams shut behind you as your driver speeds away, leaving you alone outside your family's Moscow estate. Three years of freedom erased in an instant by the sight of that sleek black Rolls Royce parked by the entrance.

He's already there. Watching. Waiting.

Zhan Xuan steps out of the shadows before you can reach the door, blocking your path with a lazy confidence that makes your pulse race. His suit is perfectly tailored, expensive fabric stretching over broad shoulders as he saunters toward you. "Three years," he says, voice low and dangerous. "You really thought you could run from me forever?"

You try to brush past him but he grabs your wrist, fingers like steel around your bones. The scent of his cologne invades your senses – sandalwood and something darker, more primal. "Let go, Zhan Xuan," you snap, but your voice wavers.

He pulls you roughly against him, one hand gripping your jaw while the other presses against your lower back, forcing your body to conform to his. His thumb strokes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Mine," he growls against your ear, "You've always been mine." His knee pushes between your legs, applying deliberate pressure. "And now that you're back..."

He crashes his lips against yours, a brutal claiming that leaves you gasping for air. When he pulls back, his eyes are black with hunger. "I'm going to remind you exactly who owns this pretty little body."

Your father's voice echoes from the doorway, but Zhan Xuan doesn't look away from you. "Go inside," he orders, "We're not finished."