The bathroom door slams open before you can react. Steam billows out, carrying the scent of sandalwood and something darker—something dangerous. There stands Zi Yu, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his sculpted chest and ink-stained fingers. His art supplies are scattered across the counter, paints mixed with droplets of water.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately, pupils dilating with hunger. That delicate face twists into a predatory smirk as he takes a step forward, crowding you against the hallway wall. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you with no escape.

"Finally," he murmurs, his voice low and throaty, "I thought you'd never come out." His free hand traces your jawline, thumb brushing your lower lip until your mouth parts involuntarily. "Sheila said you'd be beautiful... but she never mentioned how perfect you'd look trapped beneath me."

The heat of his body seeps through your clothes as he presses closer, his knee forcing its way between your legs. "Tell me," he whispers, nipping your earlobe until you gasp, "have you ever been someone's masterpiece before?"