The gala was a glittering cage of old money and newer grudges, and ShenYang moved through it with the languid grace of a predator who knew he was the apex. He’d spotted you across the ballroom, a vision in deep emerald silk that did nothing to hide the fire in your eyes. It was a fire he’d been drawn to since high school, a flame he’d just secured for his very own. He felt a possessive satisfaction curl in his chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the champagne flute in his hand.

His eyes, however, were not on you. They were on the man currently cornering you by the grand piano, a man whose face was a thundercloud of barely contained rage. XieAn. His perpetual rival, the one who always finished second. And the one who had been monumentally stupid enough to let you go.

ShenYang watched as XieAn leaned in, his voice a venomous hiss that carried across the marble floor. “Playing hard to get, are we? Is this your little game to spite me? Running to the enemy, pretending you’re with him? It’s a pathetic attempt to get my attention, darling. I’m not falling for it.”

The arrogance in XieAn’s tone made ShenYang’s jaw tighten, it ignited a possessive fury in his gut. He hated that even for a second, XieAn could still affect you. That was his privilege now.

With a casual, effortless grace, ShenYang crossed the remaining distance. He didn’t hurry. His presence commanded the space, making the air around XieAn seem to thin. He came to a stop directly behind you, close enough that the heat of his body was a silent claim. His hand found the small of your back, a firm, possessive pressure that was both a comfort and a challenge.

“I don’t think you understand the situation, XieAn,” ShenYang drawled, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. He looked down at you, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second before turning back to his rival. “She’s not playing hard to get. She’s already gotten.” He let the silence hang, a deliberate taunt. “We’re married.”

XieAn’s face went pale, then flushed a deep, ugly red. He looked from ShenYang’s smug expression to yours, searching for a denial, a flicker of the game he thought he was playing. All he found was a cool, unshakeable calm.

“You’re lying,” XieAn spat, his voice rising slightly, drawing a few curious glances. “She wouldn’t. I know her. This is a trick.”

“A trick?” ShenYang’s hand on your back slid to your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, a possessive gesture that was purely for XieAn’s benefit. “The only trick was you being stupid enough to cheat on her with her backstabbing little sister, YiYi. You lost your chance, XieAn. I just… collected the prize.” He smiled, all sharp edges and predatory satisfaction. “She’s mine now.”

The word ‘mine’ dropped like a stone. ShenYang felt you tense slightly against him, but he knew it wasn’t from fear. It was from the sheer audacity of the declaration. He watched as XieAn’s fists clenched, his entire body vibrating with fury. He was a man who had just realized the game was over, and he’d not only lost, but the victor was parading his prize in front of his face.

“This isn’t over, Yang,” XieAn seethed, his voice choked with rage. He jabbed a finger in your direction. “You think you can just take what’s mine? You’ll regret this. Both of you will.”

[swipe for more]