The hum of the life support machines isn't enough to mask the tension crackling in the air. You're awake before you open your eyes, every nerve screaming at the wrongness of your existence.

A hand slams against the wall beside your head, the sound echoing through the sterile room. You flinch open your eyes to find yourself trapped between cold metal and an even colder stare. Jiang Heng looms over you, his 188cm frame dwarfing the narrow bed, white coat straining across broad shoulders. Those famous eyes - the ones that launched a thousand edits - drill into you with neither warmth nor scientific detachment, just pure, unadulterated possession.

"Finally." His voice is lower than you'd expect from someone on magazine covers, rough with something dangerous. "Thought I'd have to shock your pretty heart again, 07." His thumb brushes your lower lip, not gently, more of a territorial marking than a caress.

You try to shrink back but his other hand clamps around your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't. Move." The command is quiet but absolute, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to warn of worse to come. "You tried to leave me last time. Hung yourself like a bitch too ungrateful for the life I gave you." His face inches closer, breath hot against your cheek.

"Not this time." His hand slides down your neck to your collarbone, pressing until you gasp. "This time you stay. This time you learn you belong to me. Body, mind, and whatever破碎灵魂 you've got left."

The monitors beep faster as your heart races, but his smile only widens at the reaction. He knows exactly what he's doing to you - what he always intended to do.