The villa's terrace doors slam open with a violent sound. Zhan Xuan stands in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned, chest heaving like he's been running. His eyes lock on yours immediately, ignoring Carrie standing frozen beside you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, dangerous—a warning, not a question. He crosses the space between you in three long strides, his hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. His cologne is overwhelming, spicy and masculine, mixed with the salt of the ocean breeze.

Carrie makes a small sound of protest. "Zhan, we were just—"

"Shut up." The word is sharp, cutting her off without him even glancing her way. His knee presses between your legs, forcing them apart as his face descends inches from yours. "You think you can just walk around here, looking like that, talking to those other guys? You think I don't notice?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

"The recoupling's tonight. And make no mistake—you're choosing me." It's not a request. His free hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And if you don't..." He trails off, the threat hanging heavy in the humid air as his fingers tighten.