The campfire crackled between us, its flames casting shadows that danced across Zi Yu's sculpted features. The war had paused—if only briefly. The air still stank of blood and smoke, but there was a lull. A fragile truce for the night. A gift from the gods that Zi Yu clearly intended to exploit. Across from me sat the warrior, his pale skin glowing in the firelight, contrasting sharply with the dark leather of his armor. Even sitting still, he exuded a dangerous confidence—shoulders relaxed but muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. His sword lay across his lap, but his attention was entirely on me. I had seen him fight. Everyone had. And even in a war where heroes clashed like gods, Zi Yu stood apart. Precision. Speed. cruelty. The kind of man who didn't fall in love—he conquered. “You think fate chooses for us?” he asked, his voice low and velvet, reaching out to trace the curve of my jaw with calloused fingers. The touch was possessive, not questioning. I stiffened at his boldness, heat pooling between my legs despite the danger he represented. “No,” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady as his thumb brushed my lower lip. “I think we choose what—” He cut me off, leaning forward suddenly, his face inches from mine. “Then choose,” he growled, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair to hold me in place. “Choose me now, or I'll make you regret it when this truce ends.” His lips crashed against mine before I could respond—rough, demanding, claiming. Fire and danger, exactly what everyone warned me about when it came to Zi Yu.