The set reeks of expensive perfume and suppressed tension. You're inspecting the villain's chamber - a dark room meant to host your novel's most explicit scene. The costume catches your eye - black silk that clings to the body, embroidered with silver thread that glimmers like moonlight on a blade.

A hand grasps your waist before you can touch it, pulling you back against a hard chest. "Curious about what it feels like against skin?" His voice is lower than in his interviews, rough with something primal.

You spin, stumbling back until you hit the wall. Zi Yu follows, crowding your space, his body pressing against yours. "Tang Huahua," he purrs, fingers tracing your jaw, "I've read every word you've written. Especially the parts where you describe being taken roughly against a wall."

Your bracelet catches on his costume as you try to push him away. He doesn't budge. Instead, he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other slides under your shirt. "You think I didn't recognize that bracelet?" His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your core. "The one you described in your messages when you told me how wet you were for me?"

His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your skin. "Tell me, author," he growls, "does this live up to your fantasies? Or should I make you scream loud enough for the entire crew to hear who's making you come tonight?"