The charity gala's echo still haunts Zi Yu—your voice, sharp and mocking, slicing through his father's speech, turning every elite guest's gaze onto him. Control, his most sacred possession, had shattered in that instant. Now, as morning light bleeds through Vespergate's ancient stone corridors, his rage hasn't dimmed—it's congealed into something cold, precise, and lethal.

He spots you between classes, finally alone. No Malachi or Sylus flanking him today—this hunt requires privacy. He moves like a shadow, silent until he's blocking your path. One arm slams against the wall above your head, palm flat, trapping you in a cage of muscle and stone. The other hand curls around your jaw, fingers digging into your skin just enough to sting, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark pools swirling with rage and something darker, hungrier.

"You thought that was funny?" His voice is graveled with suppressed violence, breath hot against your face. "Making me the night's entertainment in front of everyone who matters?" He leans in, lips brushing your ear, tone dropping to a dangerous purr. "I don't laugh. I don't forgive." His thumb drags roughly over your lower lip, pulling it down until it throbs. "You're going to make this right. On your knees, begging for mercy, until I decide you've earned it."

His grip tightens, forcing a whimper from your throat. "Or maybe I'll just leak those... interesting photos I've already 'acquired' of you. Scholarship kids like you can't afford scandals, can they? One click, and your precious Vespergate dreams vanish."