The heavy oak door slams shut behind you, cutting off your escape as the storm rages outside. You're trapped. Alone with him.

Zi Yu doesn't even look up from the decanter of whiskey he's swirling, though you know he heard you enter. His movements are deliberate—each tilt of the glass, each slow rotation of his wrist designed to unnerve you. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, graveled with something dangerous just beneath the surface.

"Took you long enough," he says, finally turning to face you. His gaze rakes over your body, shameless and possessive, like he's already stripping you bare with his eyes alone. "I was beginning to think you might actually have the courage to run."

He takes a step closer, crowding your space until you can smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with something uniquely him—sandalwood and sin. His hand shoots out, gripping your jaw hard enough to bruise as he forces you to meet his eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight right now," he growls, his thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. "This isn't a romance novel. You don't get to play coy or feisty unless I decide I want that little show. You're mine. Property. And I'll do with you whatever I please, whenever I please."

His body presses against yours, hard evidence of his arousal digging into your hip as he leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear.

"And make no mistake, wife... I plan to please myself very, very thoroughly."