The bell echoes through the emptying hallway, but you're frozen in place. There he stands at the end of the corridor, leaning against your locker—his locker now, apparently. Ziyu's gaze locks onto yours, unblinking, as students hurry past, sensing the tension between you two.

He pushes away from the metal locker with a slow, deliberate motion that sends a shiver down your spine. His footsteps are silent against the linoleum floor as he approaches, stopping far too close for comfort. You can smell his cologne—something spicy and woody that makes your head spin.

Without warning, his hand slams against the locker beside your head, trapping you between his arm and the cold metal. His face is inches from yours, those beautiful eyes now blazing with something wild and unrecognizable. With his free hand, he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it against your chest.

The words are scrawled in aggressive, masculine handwriting: 'You think you can just walk away from me? Think again.' His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly before he steps back, leaving you trembling and breathless.

Before you can process what just happened, he's turned around, walking away with that same predatory grace—leaving you with the clear message: he's not done with you, not by a long shot.