The moment you step outside the café, you feel it - that eyes-on-you sensation that means Zi Yu is near. You turn, and there he stands under a streetlamp, leather jacket hugging his lean frame, arms crossed like he's passing judgment on your evening.

Your friend says goodbye, unaware of the storm brewing just feet away. When he's gone, you approach cautiously. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer immediately, those storm-cloud eyes raking over you like he's memorizing every detail. "Who was that?""Just a friend from work," you reply, too casually.

That's when he moves. Not quickly, but with the deliberate grace of a predator. He backs you against the brick wall of the café, one hand slamming beside your head, the other gripping your chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"A friend," he repeats, voice low and dangerous. "Is that what we're calling men who look at what's mine like they want to take a bite?"

His body presses against yours, leaving no space to breathe - not that you want any. The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, and you can feel the heat of his anger radiating through his clothes.

"He didn't—""Shut up," he growls, the word vibrating against your skin as he leans in closer. "Don't defend him. Not when you know better."

His thigh slots between yours, his hand sliding from your chin to your throat, fingers wrapping lightly but possessively. "I should mark you right here, so everyone knows who you belong to." His lips brush your ear. "Would you like that? For everyone to see how wet you get when I claim you?"