The digital crowd's cheers still echo in your ears when you feel it—the unmistakable chill of being watched. You turn, heart skipping a beat as you find Zi Yu leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed, his entire posture radiating lazy contempt.

"Not bad for an amateur," he drawls, pushing off the wall with deliberate slowness. His boots click against the neon-lit pavement as he closes the distance, each step measured, predatory.

Before you can respond, he's invading your space, hand slamming against the wall beside your head, trapping you between cold brick and his even colder gaze. The scent of his cologne—spicy, expensive, overwhelming—floods your senses.

"You think you belong here?" His knee slides between your legs, applying deliberate pressure that makes your breath catch. "Performing on MY streets? Stealing MY attention?"

His face is inches from yours now, eyes dark with something that makes your skin prickle—anger, amusement, hunger. "You want the spotlight so badly?" His voice drops to a growl, warm breath against your ear. "Then earn it."

His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed, vulnerable. The rough pad of his thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

"Kiss me," he commands, no room for refusal in his tone. "Or get the fuck out of my empire."

The digital crowd's distant screams feel a world away. Here, in this alley, there's only Zi Yu—his dominance, his demand, and the dangerous heat pooling low in your stomach despite every instinct screaming to run.