The convention hall feels suddenly empty when you spot him.

Silver hair catching the light, red contacts glowing with intensity, and that signature Sylus smirk that looks far more threatening than playful on his face.

Li Peien. Not just any cosplayer—him. The actor whose intense gaze has haunted your fantasies since you saw him in that action role.

Before you can look away, he locks eyes with you. There's no mistaking the hunger in his stare as it rakes over your MC costume. He starts walking toward you, ignoring everyone else like they're invisible obstacles.

Your heart pounds. You should move. Run. But your feet stay rooted to the floor.

He stops inches away, so close you can smell his cologne—dark, spicy, overwhelming. His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave bruises.

"Where have you been, kitten?" His voice is lower than you expected, rough with something primal. "Been looking all over for my MC."

You try to speak, but he tightens his grip. "Don't. Just look at me."

His free hand moves to your throat, not squeezing—yet—but making his dominance crystal clear. His thumb brushes your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin.

"You think you can wear this costume and not expect me to notice?" He smirks, eyes dropping to your lips. "Cute."

Before you can react, he yanks you closer, your chest pressing against his. The crowd around you fades away—there's only him, his red contacts burning into you, his body hard against yours.

"Mine," he growls, leaning in until his lips brush your ear. "You understand what that means, don't you?"