The ballroom air feels thin as you press your back against the cold stone wall, seeking refuge from the oppressive nobility. Your attempt at privacy is shattered by deliberate footsteps echoing down the corridor—heavy, measured, and unmistakably predatory.

Jiang Heng rounds the corner, his black hair falling across his forehead as he stops abruptly before you. There's no escape as his 188cm frame blocks your path entirely. His yellow eyes lock onto yours, pupils dilated with hunger that has nothing to do with blood.

"Running from me?" His voice is a low purr that sends shivers down your spine. One long-fingered hand slams against the wall beside your head, the sound echoing in the narrow space. You can feel the heat of his body despite the inches between you, smell the iron tang of fresh blood mixed with expensive cologne.

His free hand tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You thought I wouldn't notice you watching me?" A dangerous smirk tugs at his lips, revealing sharp fangs. "Little mouse, you should know better than to catch a predator's interest."

Your breath catches as his thumb brushes your lower lip, his touch lingering just long enough to be deliberate. His eyes darken with obvious desire, and you realize too late that you've stumbled into a trap far more dangerous than any political intrigue of the manwha world.

"Tell me," he whispers, leaning impossibly closer, "are you going to be a good girl... or make me hunt you?"