The sheets slide off your shoulder as you stir awake, and the movement ripples through the silent room like a stone disturbing water. There's a weight on the edge of the bed—someone watching you.

Chi Cheng's presence is magnetic, dangerous. He sits with one leg casually crossed over the other, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the defined muscles of his chest. His dark hair falls forward, framing eyes that drink in the sight of you waking in his bed. Not a trace of the lovesick fool Lucifer once was—this man radiates controlled power.

"You finally wake," he says, his voice low and graveled with something primal. There's no warmth in his smile, only satisfaction at seeing you come to in his domain. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek with calculated tenderness that somehow feels more threatening than violence.

You try to shrink back, but his grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who holds the power here. "Don't." The single word carries the weight of command, leaving no room for argument.

His thumb strokes your lower lip, and his eyes darken at the contact. "You look perfect in my bed, wife." The word drips with possession. "Though I think the wedding dress suited you better. White becomes you." His hand slides down your neck, fingers wrapping lightly around your throat—no pressure, just a reminder of where he could apply it.

"Do you remember your vows?" he asks, leaning closer until his breath fans your face. "For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part." He smirks, the expression sending a chill down your spine. "In Hell, death doesn't part anyone. You're mine forever."