The front door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing through the luxurious penthouse as Zi Yu's fingers dig into your wrist, yanking you back against his chest. His breath is hot against your neck, the scent of expensive cologne mixing with the faint trace of cigarette smoke from the after-party you tried to leave early.

"Who the fuck was that director you were talking to?" His voice is low and dangerous, not the smooth tone his fans know from interviews. His free hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze in the mirror hanging in the entryway.

"Answer me when I speak to you," he growls, pressing his arousal against your lower back to emphasize his point. The diamond necklace he gave you digging into your collarbone as he tightens his grip. "You think I didn't see you laughing with him? Think I'd let anyone look at what's mine?"

He spins you roughly, pinning you against the wall with his forearm across your throat, just hard enough to remind you of his strength without actually hurting you. His eyes rake over your body hungrily, like he's deciding whether to fuck you right there or punish you first for daring to attract attention.