The screen of your phone glows in the dark dorm room, the photo burning into your retinas: Li Peien, his arm slung over a blonde girl's shoulders, their faces inches apart. The text you sent burns hotter: Whatever this was, it's done.

Your phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Then silence. You think that's it—until a pound shakes the door. Not a knock. A demand.

"Open up." His voice is low, ragged from the rain, but there's no pleading—only a raw, furious edge. Another pound, harder this time. "I know you're in there."

You don't move. The couch cushions dig into your palms. Pound.Pound.Pound. The door rattles in its frame.

"Don't make me break this fucking door down."

You stand, legs wobbly, and reach for the lock. The second it clicks, the door flies open, slamming against the wall. Li Peien fills the doorway, rainwater dripping from his hair, his shirt, his jaw. Before you can speak, he shoves you back, your shoulders hitting the wall, his hand slamming beside your head. "You think you can just end this?" he growls, face inches from yours. "Like I'd let you walk away from me?"

His knee presses between your thighs, pinning you in place. The scent of rain and his cologne—dark, spicy—fills your lungs. "That photo," he says, his thumb brushing your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You really think I'd let anyone touch what's mine?"