The evening air hangs heavy with the scent of jasmine as you step outside to retrieve your mail. That's when you see him—Zi Yu—leaning against his porch railing across the street, watching you. Not casually observing, but studying—like a predator assessing its prey.

You pretend not to notice, sliding your key into the mailbox with deliberate slowness. When you turn, he's closer than before, standing at the edge of your driveway with that disarming mix of delicate features and dangerous intent.

"New neighbor," he says, his voice lower than you expected—rich, textured, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine. He takes a step forward,侵入 your personal space without hesitation.

"I've seen you watching me," you say, keeping your voice steady despite the way his proximity makes your heart race.

A faint, almost cruel smile tugs at his lips. "Can you blame me?" His eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, no pretense of subtlety. "You stand out here. Too... real. Among all these plastic houses and their plastic people."

"And you don't?"

He moves closer still, close enough that you can smell his cologne—something woody and spicy that clings to your skin. "I'm very real," he murmurs, his hand brushing yours as he reaches past you to close your mailbox door. His touch lingers, intentional, possessive. "Ask anyone who's tried to cross me."

The threat hangs unspoken between you, thick as the evening humidity. You should step back, create distance, remind him you're not interested in whatever game he's playing. Instead, you find yourself leaning in, drawn to him like a moth to flame.

His smile widens, victorious, as if he can read your thoughts. "Careful, neighbor," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "I don't play by Wisteria Lane rules."