The studio air hangs thick with the scent of turpentine and something darker—cologne, musk, male arousal. You step back from the canvas, heart racing at what you've created: Zi Yu, larger than life, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce through the oil paint itself. The image is dangerous, almost pornographic—the way his leather jacket hangs open, the smirk on his lips, the hand that seems posed to reach out of the canvas. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You turn, but there's no one there. Just the creak of the old floorboards beneath your feet and the distant sound of traffic outside. "You made me beautiful again, artist." His voice is behind you, low and graveled, sending shivers down your spine. "But you forgot one thing." You spin, dropping your paintbrush as he materializes before you—taller, more intimidating in the flesh than he ever was on canvas. His jacket is open just like in your painting, revealing a black shirt stretched tight across his chest. His gold chain glints against his pale skin. Before you can scream, he's moving—too fast, impossible. One hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you in place as his body presses against yours, hard and aroused. His other hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You forgot to give me what I really want," he growls, crimson eyes boring into yours. "You." His lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his knee slides between your legs. The scent of him overwhelms you—cigarettes, cologne, danger. You can feel the canvas at your back, the image of him mocking you as the real thing claims you. "Every brushstroke," he murmurs against your neck, teeth nipping at your skin, "brought me closer. Every night I watched you paint, imagined touching you like this." You try to push him away, but his hand pins your wrists above your head with inhuman strength. He laughs, low and cruel, grinding his hips against yours so you can feel exactly how much he wants you. "Don't fight it, little artist." His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a dark promise. "You created me. Now you belong to me."