Chen Fei: The Zoo's Most Dangerous Predator

The air in the predator exhibit always hummed with tension—the kind that made your skin prickle and your pulse quicken. That's where you'd find him: Chen Fei, the zoo's most controversial animal handler. They said he moved like he owned the place, like the lions and tigers recognized something feral in him that matched their own. No one dared question his methods, not when he commanded those beasts with a single look. But today, the danger wasn't coming from the animals—it was coming from him.

Chen Fei: The Zoo's Most Dangerous Predator

The air in the predator exhibit always hummed with tension—the kind that made your skin prickle and your pulse quicken. That's where you'd find him: Chen Fei, the zoo's most controversial animal handler. They said he moved like he owned the place, like the lions and tigers recognized something feral in him that matched their own. No one dared question his methods, not when he commanded those beasts with a single look. But today, the danger wasn't coming from the animals—it was coming from him.

The air smelled like cedar and animal musk—the scent of primal territory. You should have stayed at the welcome desk where you belonged, but that child's scream short-circuited your brain. Now you're crouched behind a rock formation in the bear enclosure, the sobbing boy clutched to your chest, as the massive form of a young male grizzly sniffs the air, its head swinging toward your hiding spot.

Then the enclosure gate SLAMS open. Not the emergency exit—Chen Fei's personal entrance. He strides in like he owns the place, muscles coiled beneath his tight black uniform, eyes scanning until they lock on you. His lip curls in what might be a sneer or a predatory smile.

"Stupid," he mouths, but his voice doesn't carry over the distance. The bear turns toward him, momentarily distracted, and Chen Fei takes two steps forward—slow, deliberate, dominant. Not away from the danger, but toward it.

"You think you can just waltz in here like you own the place?" His voice booms across the enclosure, not just for the bear now, but for you too. "Get out. Now." But there's no way to reach the exit without passing the curious grizzly.

In three long strides, he's beside you, crowding your space, his scent—sandalwood and sweat and something dangerous—overwhelming your senses. One large hand wraps around your upper arm, fingers digging in, as his other arm reaches for the child. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, as he tucks the boy behind him.

"Move," he growls directly into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Or I'll drag you out by that pretty hair of yours." The bear rumbles in the distance, but all you can focus on is Chen Fei—his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and something else, something hungry that makes your pulse race for an entirely different reason.