"No"
The word felt like a final verdict.
Unchangeable.
My heart pounded violently.
"You can't keep me here."
This time—
he smiled.
Not wide.
Not loud.
Just that same one-sided curve—
sharp.
I already am."
My chest tightened.
Because he wasn't bluffing.
And we both knew it.
He stepped closer again—close enough that I could feel his presence, suffocating, inescapable.
"But don't worry," he added softly, almost gently.
His fingers lifted—brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face.
The gesture was careful.
Intimate.
Completely at odds with everything else.
"I'll protect her."
My breath stopped.
His thumb lingered for just a second—
right under my eye.
"Better than you ever could."
The words hit harder than the lock.
Harder than the walls.
Because this—
this wasn't just control.
It was a promise.
Or a threat.
And I didn't know which one was worse.
His words echoed in my head—but I wasn't listening anymore.
My pulse roared in my ears.
No.
I wasn't staying here.
Not like this.
Not with him watching me like I already belonged to him,and my mom...
Before he could react—
I moved.
Fast.
My hand shot past him, grabbing the heavy vase from the side table.
For a second—just one—
his eyes flickered.
Surprise.
Then I swung.
Not at him—
At the lock.
Crash.
The sound shattered through the room, sharp and desperate.
Pain shot up my arm from the impact, but I didn't stop.
I lifted it again—
But this time—
his hand caught my wrist mid-air.
Hard.
The force of it made the vase slip from my grip, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
"Enough."
His voice dropped—low, controlled.
Dangerously quiet.
I struggled instantly.
"Let go of me!"
But his grip only tightened.
Not enough to hurt—
Enough to stop me completely.
"You're going to hurt yourself," he said, almost annoyed.
"I don't care!"
I twisted my wrist, trying to break free, but he stepped closer, closing the distance in a second.
Too close.
Always too close.
"Open the door!"
My free hand pushed against his chest—this time with force.
Real force.
But he didn't move.
Didn't even budge.
Instead—
his other hand came up, catching my wrist again.
Now both of my hands were trapped.
Pinned between us.
My breath hitched.
"Cheng Mo—"
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud.
But it cut through everything.
His grip shifted—pulling my wrists together in one hand, holding them easily as if my resistance meant nothing.
My back hit the door again.
No escape.
Not this time.
"You're not leaving," he said quietly.
"I have to—"
"For her?"
The words came sharper now.
His eyes locked onto mine, something darker surfacing again.
"You think running away protects her?"