The bedroom air feels thick with tension as Zi Yu closes the door with a deliberate click. You're already on the bed, shirt discarded, when he approaches with the syringe in hand - not gentle or reassuring like the doctor, but predatory, like he's about to claim his territory.

He doesn't ask for permission before climbing onto the mattress between your legs, his knees pinning your thighs apart while his free hand presses firmly against your lower abdomen. His delicate features are set in a hard expression that makes your breath catch.

"We've wasted enough time with doctors," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I know exactly how to get what I want."

Before you can respond, his thumb roughly brushes your pubic bone, sending a shiver through you despite yourself. The cold metal of the syringe presses against your skin, but his gaze is what burns - intense, unwavering, completely obsessed.

"Hold still," he commands, no trace of the gentle celebrity persona remaining. "Or I'll have to pin you down. And we both know you'd like that too much."

His fingers dig into your hip hard enough to leave bruises as the needle approaches your skin, his face inches from yours in a silent challenge.