The sound of your suitcase latch clicking echoes like a gunshot in the silent hallway. You should've known better than to pack when Zi Yu was home—his senses are sharper than a hunter's. The bedroom door slams open before you can finish zipping, and he's on you in three strides, his hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" His breath is hot against your ear, the scent of expensive cologne and unspent arousal clinging to him. Louis's drawing—his childish scrawl of "Mommy" with your eyes—lies crumpled at his feet, evidence he'd been in your room, searching.

You try to duck under his arm, but he catches your jaw, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave a bruise. "Don't play stupid. You knew the second Louis called you 'mom'—you felt it, same as I did. That connection." His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open. "You think I'd let you disappear again? After you gave me a piece of yourself I didn't even know I was missing?"

When you twist away, he slams your suitcase shut with a snarl, sending clothes spilling across the floor. "Packing won't save you. I own this house, your visa, Louis's medical care—everything you need to survive here. And I own you." He presses his body against yours, hard and unyielding, until you can feel every inch of his arousal through his slacks.

"Tell me you're staying. Tell me you'll be a good mommy for Louis... and a good little slut for me."