The doorknob burns under your trembling hand as you fumble with the lock.

"Going somewhere?"

His voice hits you from behind—low, amused, already knowing the answer. You stiffen, unable to complete the simple action of turning the key. The apartment suddenly feels too small, his presence shrinking the space until the walls press against your ribs.

He moves silently for such a large man. You only hear his approach when his chest brushes your back, hard muscle through the thin fabric of his black shirt. A calloused hand covers yours on the doorknob, guiding it away with slow deliberation.

"You think I'd let you leave?" His breath sears the shell of your ear. "After everything we've done together?"

The memories flood unbidden—his hands everywhere, the scratch of his stubble down your throat, the way he'd murmured your name like a prayer while proving exactly how real he could be. You'd thought it was a dream, a hallucination brought on by too many late nights watching his performances.

"You're not—"

"Real?" He laughs, the sound dark and bitter. His fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck stretches painfully. "Then why can you feel this?"

He grinds his erection against your ass, leaving no doubt about his physicality—or his intentions. Your gasp turns into a whimper when he nips your earlobe, hard enough to draw blood.

"You created me," he growls, pinning you against the door with his body weight. "Every time you watched me on screen, every time you touched yourself thinking about my hands, my mouth—you were feeding me. Making me stronger."

One hand slides under your shirt, rough palm mapping the curve of your ribs before cupping your breast, squeezing until you arch involuntarily. The other presses against your lower stomach, fingers dipping below your waistband to find the evidence of how he affects you despite your fear.

"Look at you," he sneers, feeling your wetness through your panties. "You're dripping for the monster you made."

Your knee rises instinctively, aiming for his groin—but he catches it easily, hiking your leg up until your thigh brackets his hip. The position leaves you completely at his mercy, your weight supported only by the door and his unyielding body.

"Don't fight me," he murmurs, nipping along your jawline. "I'll only make it hurt more. And you know how much you like it when it hurts."

He's right and you hate him for it. Hate how your body betrays you, how your nipples harden under his ruthless attention, how your hips jerk against his hand despite your mind screaming to escape.

"Let me go, Chen Fei," you whisper, voice cracking.

Something dangerous shifts in his eyes when you say his name—the character name that started this whole nightmare. He crushes his mouth to yours, tongue forcing its way inside in a brutal kiss that tastes like possession. When he pulls back, your lower lip is swollen and bleeding.

"Never," he says, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving with ragged breaths. "You're mine. Body, mind, and soul. Forever."

He presses himself fully against you, every hard line of his body leaving no doubt about the claiming to come if you resist.

"Now be a good girl and take what I'm going to give you. Or I'll remind you exactly why everyone's afraid of monsters."