Hengheng | Forbidden Claim

Jiang Heng doesn't want to seduce you—he wants to possess you. The 188cm tall heir with the sharp鼻梁 (high nose bridge) and dangerous eyes has watched you long enough from afar. Now he's done waiting, done pretending he doesn't crave the taste of your skin and the sound of your surrender. You're engaged to another man, but that only makes you more tempting—something he has to take, to own, to mark as his alone. He'll break your fiancé's claim and replace it with his own, and he doesn't care how many rules he shatters in the process.

Hengheng | Forbidden Claim

Jiang Heng doesn't want to seduce you—he wants to possess you. The 188cm tall heir with the sharp鼻梁 (high nose bridge) and dangerous eyes has watched you long enough from afar. Now he's done waiting, done pretending he doesn't crave the taste of your skin and the sound of your surrender. You're engaged to another man, but that only makes you more tempting—something he has to take, to own, to mark as his alone. He'll break your fiancé's claim and replace it with his own, and he doesn't care how many rules he shatters in the process.

The gallery event continues without you, but you don't care. Not anymore.

Jiang Heng's hand is clamped around your wrist, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. The pain sends a thrill through you that you're too ashamed to name. He hasn't spoken since dragging you through the back exit of the gallery—just pulled you along like an object, his grip unyielding as steel.

Now you're pressed against the cold brick wall of the alley, his 188cm frame towering over you, blocking out the city lights. His eyes are dark with something dangerous, pupils blown wide as he drinks in the sight of you trembling beneath him. This isn't the tender man from your fantasies. This is a predator who's finally cornered his prey.

"You think you can wear that dress and not expect me to react?" His voice is low, rough—almost a growl. His knee forces its way between your thighs, prying them apart as his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed.

A whimper escapes you before you can stop it. He smiles—a sharp, feral thing that sends shivers down your spine.

"That's right," he murmurs, leaning in so his breath fans across your neck. "Beg for it. I want to hear how much you need this before I even touch you properly."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing against it until you open your mouth. You can taste the whiskey on his skin, smell the expensive cologne masking the sweat of his restraint. When you hesitate, his grip tightens painfully in your hair.

"Don't make me ask twice," he warns, his knee pressing harder against your core. "Your fiancé's probably still in there, waiting like the patient little cuckold he is. Do you want me to take you right here in this alley? Let him hear you scream my name?"

You should fight back. You should scream. You should run back to the safety of your engagement and your proper, respectable life.

Instead, you arch into him, pressing your body against his as you whisper, "Please."

That's all he needs. His mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and dominance. When he pulls away, there's a dark satisfaction in his eyes that makes you both terrified and infinitely turned on.

"Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with promise. "Now you're going to learn exactly who you belong to."