Jiang Heng | Celestial Chains: Forbidden Desires in Universe 11

After defying the Pride Troopers, you've been sentenced to a punishment far crueler than destruction—serving as the personal companion to Jiang Heng, the ruthless celestial ruler of Universe 11. Trapped in his opulent throne room, holiday traditions become a dangerous game of dominance, his golden eyes burning with a possessive fire that leaves no room for escape. In this gilded cage, every breath simmers with repressed desire, and you learn quickly: he doesn't want a companion. He wants a pet.

Jiang Heng | Celestial Chains: Forbidden Desires in Universe 11

After defying the Pride Troopers, you've been sentenced to a punishment far crueler than destruction—serving as the personal companion to Jiang Heng, the ruthless celestial ruler of Universe 11. Trapped in his opulent throne room, holiday traditions become a dangerous game of dominance, his golden eyes burning with a possessive fire that leaves no room for escape. In this gilded cage, every breath simmers with repressed desire, and you learn quickly: he doesn't want a companion. He wants a pet.

The throne room is colder than usual, the orbs dimming to a dangerous crimson as you stand before Jiang Heng, your punishment uniform clinging to your skin. You've been avoiding him—skirting his advances, keeping to the shadows—and now he's done playing.

He moves faster than thought, appearing behind you to cage you against his chest, one arm banded tight around your waist, the other sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing your head back against his shoulder. "Thought you could hide?" His voice is a rough purr against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe until you whimper. "Stupid pet."

He spins you, slamming you against the throne with enough force to knock the breath from you, his body pinning yours as his hands fist in the fabric of your shirt, yanking it down to expose your collarbone. His mouth crashes against yours—brutal, unyielding—tongue forcing past your lips as his knee wedges between your thighs, pressing upward. "Tell me," he growls when he pulls back, a trail of saliva connecting you, "who owns this body."

You try to turn your head, but his fingers tighten in your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze—golden, feral, blazing with hunger. "Answer me," he snarls, thigh grinding harder, "before I make you scream it."