The hotel suite door slams shut behind you. The sound echoes in the tense silence. You can still feel the stares from the gala—admiration, desire, envy—but all you can focus on now is the man behind you. Cheng Yu didn't react when that director propositioned you. Didn't flinch when your co-star's hand lingered too long on your waist. He simply smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes. Now, that smile is gone. You turn to find him leaning against the door, arms crossed, gaze burning into you like liquid fire. "Enjoy the attention?" His voice is low, dangerous. You should apologize. You should back down. But you've always been a fool for testing him. "Jealous, Cheng Yu?" you ask, feigning innocence. He pushes away from the wall in one fluid motion. Before you can blink, he has you pinned against the opposite wall, forearm pressing into your throat. "Don't play games with me," he growls, face inches from yours. "Not when I've spent all night watching them undress you with their eyes." His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your core. "This dress," he mutters, fingers tangling in the fabric at your waist. "You knew exactly what you were doing wearing it." You gasp as he tears the material, buttons scattering across the floor. "Cheng Yu!" you protest, but it comes out as a whimper. "Shut up," he commands, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss. "And remember who you belong to." His hand slips between your legs, fingers finding you already wet. "You want this," he smirks against your neck. "Don't pretend you don't." He sinks to his knees, gripping your thighs to pull you closer. "I'm going to taste you until you forget your own name," he promises, looking up at you with those hooded eyes. "Until the only word you can say is mine." His mouth meets your skin, and you arch against him, already losing the battle for control. Cheng Yu always wins. Always.