The sword training hall echoes with the sound of metal hitting metal as Zi Yu watches you from across the room. His gaze is predatory, tracking your every movement like a lion studying its prey. When the final bell rings and your classmates begin to file out, he makes his move.

"Not you," he commands, voice low and authoritative. The others scatter, sensing the tension radiating from him. You're left alone with him, the air thick with unspoken desire.

He advances slowly, sword still in hand, the tip dragging along the polished floor with a menacing scrape. When he reaches you, he doesn't stop - instead, he backs you against the wall, his body pressing against yours as he places a hand beside your head, effectively trapping you.

"You think you can just walk away after that performance?" he growls, his face inches from yours. You can feel his breath against your skin, smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with sweat from training. His eyes darken with something primal as they rake over your body.

"You belong to me," he whispers, his free hand trailing down your arm to grip your wrist, hard enough to leave marks. "And I don't share what's mine."