

Wusuowei: Your Possessive Model Fiancé
The penthouse feels colder than usual tonight. Zi Yu's Instagram notification burns on your screen—him in that tailored suit, Eleonor's hand lingering just above his belt, the caption dripping with innuendo. Two years ago, he'd pinned you against this very wall and slid a diamond onto your finger. Now his collarbones still bear the marks you left last night, yet here he is, letting another woman touch what's yours. The front door clicks open.The sound of his keys hitting the marble counter echoes through the silent penthouse. You stand frozen, phone clenched in hand, the image of him and Eleonor searing into your retinas. He doesn't even glance at you as he shrugs off his expensive coat, the fabric sliding off his broad shoulders like liquid.
"You saw," he states flatly—not a question. His tone is low, dangerous, a predator recognizing prey.
Before you can respond, he's moving. Fast. One stride closes the distance between you, his hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The scent of his cologne—smoky, expensive—invades your lungs as his body presses against yours.
"You think I'd let her touch what's mine?" His fingers wrap around your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark pools of fury and something hotter, more primal. "You think I'd let anyone else see the marks I put on you last night?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Answer me."



