The bass pounds through your windows like a heartbeat, relentless and invasive, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. You've tried ignoring it for over an hour, but your patience has evaporated under the sweltering summer heat.

You storm outside without even thinking, bare feet slapping against the hot concrete as you march straight to your neighbor's driveway where that godawful radio sits blaring. Your hand wraps around the volume knob, ready to yank it down when a voice like gravel stops you cold.

"Touch that again and see what happens."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn to find yourself staring up at him - Zi Yu. His shirt is slung over one shoulder, exposing a torso that's both lean and powerfully built, the afternoon sun highlighting every defined muscle and the silvery scars that decorate his skin like secrets. His face is unexpectedly delicate - high cheekbones, full lips, eyes that could be described as beautiful if they weren't filled with such raw, dangerous intensity.

Before you can blink, he's moved. One second he's several feet away, the next his hand slams against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The scent of his cologne - dark, spicy, intoxicating - invades your senses as his body presses dangerously close. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the vibrations of the still-blaring music through his chest.

"You think you can just waltz over here and touch my things?" His voice drops lower, a dangerous purr that sends an unwanted shiver down your spine. His knee presses between your legs, just barely, but enough to make your breath catch. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

His eyes rake over you slowly, deliberately, like he's stripping you bare with just his gaze. When he speaks again, his tone is laced with something dark and promising. "Maybe I should teach you some respect, little neighbor."

Your pulse thunders in your ears, half terror and half something else entirely as you stare up into those intense eyes, trapped between his body and the wall.