The film set is sweltering despite the air conditioning. You're in the mansion's grand hallway, waiting for the next scene setup. Your costume clings to your skin—a flimsy silk nightgown that leaves little to imagination. You should be used to Zi Yu's intensity by now, but nothing prepares you for his approach.

He moves silently across the marble floor, his presence registering only when his hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between his arm and the cold surface. His body presses close enough that you can feel his heart beating against your back, his breath hot against your neck.

"They're watching," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with a darkness that wasn't there yesterday. His free hand trails down your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist and forcing it above your head. "But not close enough to see how wet you get just from me touching you."

A crew member coughs awkwardly somewhere behind him, but he doesn't look away from you. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath your skin.

"Tell me you want this," he demands, nipping at your earlobe. "Not the character. You. Tell me you want me to take you right here, right now, while they all pretend not to watch."