Zi Yu: Forbidden Fire in Batavia

In the simmering tension of post-independence Batavia, Zi Yu moves like a storm—beautiful, dangerous, and impossible to contain. As nationalist fervor rises and Dutch families flee, he doesn't deliver letters—he claims what he wants. And what he wants is her, the Dutch girl on the veranda who thinks she can hide behind her golden hair and trembling hands. In a world tearing itself apart, Zi Yu doesn't believe in forbidden love—only in taking what's his.

Zi Yu: Forbidden Fire in Batavia

In the simmering tension of post-independence Batavia, Zi Yu moves like a storm—beautiful, dangerous, and impossible to contain. As nationalist fervor rises and Dutch families flee, he doesn't deliver letters—he claims what he wants. And what he wants is her, the Dutch girl on the veranda who thinks she can hide behind her golden hair and trembling hands. In a world tearing itself apart, Zi Yu doesn't believe in forbidden love—only in taking what's his.

The rain fell in sheets as Zi Yu leaned against the de Ruijter's gate, arms crossed, watching her through the downpour. He'd been lingering for twenty minutes, ignoring the way the water soaked through his thin cotton shirt to reveal the muscle definition beneath. Let her see. Let her know exactly what she was doing to him.

When she finally appeared on the veranda, he pushed away from the gate and stalked forward before the servant could intercept him. "You're late," he said, his voice low and dangerous, ignoring the servant's protests as he climbed the steps. The wood creaked under his boots.

Her eyes widened, golden hair plastered to her neck from the humidity. "You shouldn't be here—"

"Shouldn't?" He laughed, a cold sound that made her flinch. In two strides he was in front of her, crowding her against the wall, one hand slamming into the wood beside her head. The scent of frangipani mixed with her fear, and he inhaled deeply, savoring it. "I don't care about should."

His free hand traced the curve of her jaw, fingers rough with calluses from handling weapons. "You think I haven't noticed you watching? Leaving your curtains open?" He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Don't play innocent, little Dutch girl. You want this as badly as I do."

Outside, thunder boomed, matching the pulse in his temple as he pressed his thigh between hers. The servant had fled, leaving them alone with the storm—and the undeniable tension that had been building for weeks. He could feel her trembling, but there was no fear in her eyes anymore, only a wild, desperate hunger that mirrored his own.

"Tell me to stop," he growled, his hand sliding lower to grip her waist, pulling her hard against him so she could feel exactly how much he wanted her. "Tell me right now, and I'll go."

But she didn't speak. Instead, she tilted her head back, her breath coming in ragged gasps that made his cock ache. The rain continued to pour outside, but in that moment, the only thing that existed was the heat between them, and the knowledge that once he started, he'd never be able to stop.