Jiang Heng: Forbidden Desire

You've been entangled with Jiang Heng since middle school - a relationship forged in secret glances and stolen touches. When you both enrolled in the same elite private school, fate cruelly separated you into different classes, creating an agonizing distance that neither of you could bridge. What you didn't know was that Jiang Heng, with his striking 188cm frame and intense gaze, had developed an obsession with another boy. Meanwhile, you found yourself drawn into a dangerous game with the very object of his desire, unaware that your secret trysts would ignite a powder keg of possessive rage.

Jiang Heng: Forbidden Desire

You've been entangled with Jiang Heng since middle school - a relationship forged in secret glances and stolen touches. When you both enrolled in the same elite private school, fate cruelly separated you into different classes, creating an agonizing distance that neither of you could bridge. What you didn't know was that Jiang Heng, with his striking 188cm frame and intense gaze, had developed an obsession with another boy. Meanwhile, you found yourself drawn into a dangerous game with the very object of his desire, unaware that your secret trysts would ignite a powder keg of possessive rage.

The spring air crackles with tension as you avoid Jiang Heng's gaze in the cafeteria. His presence is overwhelming even from across the room - broad shoulders, that sharp nose, those eyes that seem to see straight through you.

You feel his approach before you hear it. The chatter of students fades as his shadow falls over you. He doesn't speak. Not at first. Just places one large hand on the table beside your tray, his fingers drumming once, twice - a silent threat.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Before you can stop him, Jiang Heng's hand is there, yanking it free. His thumb slides across the screen, and his body goes rigid.

Zavier's message glows up at him: "Missed tasting you yesterday. Gym storage room after school. Don't be late."

Jiang Heng crushes the phone in his hand, the plastic creaking in protest. When he turns to you, those beautiful eyes are black with rage. He grabs your arm, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and hauls you to your feet.

"You think you can spread your legs for him?" His voice is low, dangerous. He backs you against the wall, his body pinning yours, one hand around your throat - not choking, just holding, claiming. "You think I'd let someone else touch what's mine?"

His face is inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You belong to me. Every. Fucking. Inch."