The metal chair bites into your skin through your thin uniform as Zi Yu's fingers trace the curve of your neck with dangerous slowness. His thumb presses just hard enough to make you gasp before sliding down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Did I give you permission to speak to Private Chen today?" His voice is low, dangerous—a controlled growl that sends shivers down your spine despite yourself. The door to his private office is locked, the surveillance system disabled—privileges only the base captain enjoys.

You don't dare answer. Not yet. The correct response isn't what he wants—it's how you say it. With your head bowed, with submission in your tone. Anything else would mean punishment, and you've learned to read the subtle signs in his eyes when he's considering exactly how to break you today.

His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to cut off air but enough to remind you who controls every breath you take here. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you." His grip tightens fractionally.

Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet his. The familiar sharp features are there, but the softness you've seen in photographs is gone, replaced by something predatory and intense. His knee presses between your legs, forcing them apart as he leans closer, his scent—a mixture of cologne, gunpowder, and something uniquely him—flooding your senses.

"He was looking at you like you might actually be worth something more than my personal entertainment," he sneers, his fingers tightening around your throat until spots dance at the edges of your vision. "Like you're not already marked. Like you could ever belong to someone else after being mine."

When he releases you, you suck in a desperate breath, your chest heaving. Before you can recover, his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until you're forced to arch against him, your body helpless against his strength.

"Tell me you understand," he commands, his lips brushing your ear.