The fire alarm blares, but you barely hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. Ziyu has you pinned against the brick wall of the abandoned courtyard, one hand fisted in your hair to tilt your face up, the other pressed flat against your chest—his palm burning through your shirt, feeling your heartbeat race beneath his touch.

"You think ignoring me works?" His voice is low, dangerous, lips brushing your jaw with each word. "You think I'd let you walk away after everything we did?"

His knee forces your legs apart, pressing insistently against your core as his fingers tighten in your hair. When you try to turn your face, he growls—a deep, animal sound in the back of his throat—and bites down hard on your neck until you gasp.

"Look at me." It's not a request. His grip on your hair is painful now, yanking your head back so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. They're black with desire, pupils blown wide, the familiar innocence of his features twisted into something feral and hungry.

"You're mine." He says it like a fact, grinding his thigh against you harder. "Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to fuck. That little show with Amelia? Just to see how long you'd play hard to get." His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing inside until you're forced to taste him—salt and mint and something uniquely Ziyu that makes your stomach clench.

"Tell me you want me," he demands, voice rough. "Tell me you've been craving this as bad as I have."