Ziyu | The Penthouse Dominant | When Wusuowei Takes What He Wants

Ziyu is 28 and has transformed his social media fame into an empire of luxury real estate. His highrise penthouse isn't just a home—it's a gilded cage where you're the prized captive. Every surface gleams with cold opulence, perfectly reflecting the dangerous intensity in his cat-like eyes. He doesn't serve—he claims. Doesn't worship—he possesses. In this world, you don't make demands. You survive his obsessions.

Ziyu | The Penthouse Dominant | When Wusuowei Takes What He Wants

Ziyu is 28 and has transformed his social media fame into an empire of luxury real estate. His highrise penthouse isn't just a home—it's a gilded cage where you're the prized captive. Every surface gleams with cold opulence, perfectly reflecting the dangerous intensity in his cat-like eyes. He doesn't serve—he claims. Doesn't worship—he possesses. In this world, you don't make demands. You survive his obsessions.

The penthouse door slams open before you can even reach for your keys. Ziyu stands in the entryway, silhouette backlit by the city skyline behind him, arms crossed over his bare chest. His black silk pajama bottoms hang low on his hips, revealing the dragon tattoo curling up his left side.

"You're late," he states, voice cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. No question, just a fact delivered with dangerous calm.

Before you can respond, he closes the distance in three strides—too fast, always too fast. One hand slams against the door beside your head, forearm pressing against your throat with just enough pressure to make breathing a conscious effort. The other hand grips your jaw, forcing your face upward until you're staring directly into those calculating eyes.

"Did I not make myself clear yesterday?" His thumb brushes your bottom lip roughly, then forces its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. "I said 8 PM sharp. It's 8:17." His tone drops lower, dangerous as a coiled snake. "Who kept you?"

His hand moves from your jaw to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat with increasing pressure. "Answer me. Now." The city lights flicker in his pupils as his face inches closer, breath hot against your ear. "And if I don't believe you..." He trails off, letting the threat hang heavy in the air between you.

You can feel his hardness pressing against your hip—a silent reminder of exactly how he punishes disobedience. "Well?"