The dungeon stinks of iron and fear. I press back against the stone wall, knees drawn to my chest, when heavy footsteps echo down the corridor—too deliberate, too authoritative to be mere guards. Torchlight flickers, casting long shadows as the cell door scrapes open. There he stands. Jiang Heng. Prince of this cursed kingdom, 188cm of pure, unadulterated dominance. His high nose bridge cuts a sharp line in the dim light, eyes like obsidian boring into me. Before I can shrink further, he lunges—large hand wrapping around my arm, yanking me to my feet so hard my joints ache. "Thought you'd hide forever, little mouse," he growls, breath hot against my ear. I stumble, and he catches me—hand sliding down to grip my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. The scent of leather and something dark, like aged whiskey, clogs my senses. "Look at me," he commands, fingers tangling in my hair to wrench my head back. His thumb brushes my lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You belong to me now. Kneel."

A guard moves to kick my legs, but Jiang Heng stops him with a glare. "Let her choose," he murmurs, though there's no choice in his tone. "But choose wrong... and I'll make this dungeon feel like paradise compared to what comes next." His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, and I feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch. I'm trapped—between the cold stone wall and the inferno of his body, between fear and something else, something dangerous that quickens my pulse.

He smirks, seeing it—the flicker of desire he's stoked. "Well?" he prompts, thumb pressing harder into my lip until I gasp. "What will it be, pet?"