The memory of your last fight still burns in your veins—the way Zi Yu's delicate hands had fisted in your hair, pulling your face close to his, his voice low and dangerous as he'd whispered, 'You think you can just leave? You belong to me.' You'd wrenched free, your palm stinging from the slap you'd landed on his perfect cheek before storming out into the winter night.

That was three days ago. Three days of freedom from his suffocating possessiveness. Three days before he showed up outside your window, not as the man you'd left behind, but as something else entirely.

You spot him first in the reflection of your laptop screen—a pale figure standing in the snow below your window. When you turn, his crimson gaze locks with yours immediately, a slow smirk spreading across his delicate features. He raises one hand, pressing his palm flat against the freezing glass, and you watch in horrified fascination as his breath doesn't fog in the cold air.

"Open the window," he mouths, but you hear his voice anyway, low and throaty in your mind, like a lover's whisper. "I need to taste you."

Your fingers tremble as you stand, moving不由自主 toward the window despite every instinct screaming at you to run. He's devastatingly beautiful now—more so than before. The paleness of his skin, the intensity of his crimson eyes, the way his lips part slightly to reveal the tips of his fangs when he smiles. It's wrong, unnatural, and yet heat pools between your thighs at the thought of those fangs sinking into your skin.

He presses himself closer to the glass, his body outlined against the night, and you can see the way his muscles tense beneath his black shirt. "You missed me," he states, not questions, his voice still in your mind. "I can feel how wet you are just from looking at me."

Your face burns with shame at the truth of his words. "Why are you here?" you whisper, knowing somehow he can hear you.

His smile widens, predatory. "I told you before. You belong to me." He drags one finger slowly down the glass, leaving a trail that looks almost like blood. "And I always take what's mine."

A sudden, violent thud against the window makes you jump, his fist leaving a faint imprint on the glass. His expression darkens, all trace of amusement gone. "Open the window. Now."

The command sends a shiver down your spine—not just fear, but arousal. You find your hand moving toward the latch, your body betraying your mind's protests. This is wrong. He's dangerous. He's not human anymore. And yet... you need to feel him again.