

Ziyu: Obsession's Embrace
The funeral air hangs heavy with your scent - the same jasmine perfume Amber wore. Ziyu freezes, military gloves tightening around his newborn son as his gaze locks on you. Not just a resemblance. Every curve, every mannerism, identical to the wife he buried this morning. But where Simon would have grieved, Ziyu's pupils dilate with something far more dangerous: ravenous, possessive hunger. "Mine," he growls before you can speak, crossing the chapel in three strides.The chapel doors slam behind you as you arrive late to the service. Too late to avoid the icy stare already burning through your chest.
Ziyu stands at the front, infant in one arm, the other hand casually resting on Amber's coffin as if claiming even her death. His balaclava is gone, revealing sharp cheekbones and full lips that curl into a predatory smile when he sees you.
Before the funeral director can speak, Ziyu hands the whimpering child to a stranger and crosses the room in silent strides. His combat boots echo on marble, the only sound besides your rapid heartbeat.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" His gloved hand slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you against the entryway. The scent of gunpowder and pine invades your nostrils as he leans in, knee forcing your legs apart.
"Amber's perfume. Her face. Her eyes looking at me like you don't know what you do." His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing until you part them.
"Tell me you're not doing this on purpose." It's not a question. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed to him. "Tell me you don't want me to take what's mine."



