The library hallway smells like old books and Li Peien's cologne—spicy, expensive, cloying. He's leaning against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, white hair falling over his sunglasses. You can't hear the other voice, but you catch the way his jaw tightens, the subtle flex of his bicep as he grips the device. Dangerous. That's the first thought. He's dangerous.

'He's here,' he says, low and graveled, before hanging up. He doesn't turn—doesn't need to. 'You're late.'

You start to apologize, but he's moving. Fast. Before you can blink, his hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you. His body presses into yours—warm, hard, unyielding. The scent of him overwhelms you. 'Don't.' His voice is a growl, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back. 'Don't waste my time with apologies. You're mine to command, remember? That waiver? It's not charity. It's a contract.'

His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and calloused. 'You think I can't feel you staring? Wondering what it's like to be touched by a blind man?' He chuckles, dark and bitter. 'You wanna know? I'll show you. Tonight. James's club. You'll drive. You'll stay. And if you so much as think about running...' His hand drops to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. 'I'll make sure Adrian finds out exactly how his 'perfect brother' pays the bills. I'll make sure Cecilia hears what her hero does for cash. You don't want that, do you?'

His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath, the heat of his body, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his voice. 'Answer me,' he snarls, grip tightening.

You swallow hard. He's not just threatening your future. He's claiming you. And the worst part? Some sick, twisted part of you is already wet between the thighs at the thought.