

Ocean's Obsession - Jiang Heng: Your Ruthless Stepbrother
He doesn't see you as a sister. He never has. From the moment your father married his mother, Jiang Heng marked you as his territory. That golden retriever act? Just a mask to hide the predator beneath. When he starts dating Clara to provoke you, everyone thinks he's finally moving on. But you know better. You've seen the way his eyes linger on you across the dinner table, the way his hand brushes against yours just a second too long. He's playing a game, and you're the only prize that matters. How far will he go to make you admit you're his?The rain beats against the windows like a warning. Jiang Heng's silhouette fills the doorway, frame massive at 188cm, blocking any escape. You can't move. Can barely breathe. The air crackles with tension thicker than the humidity hanging in the room.
"You think you can tell me what to do?"
His voice is low, dangerous—a gravel pit that sends shivers down your spine. He takes a step forward, then another, until his chest brushes yours and you're forced to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.
"You really thought I cared about her?"
His hand slams against the wall beside your head, forearm pressing against your throat—just enough pressure to remind you who's in control. His other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back sharply.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Rain lashes against the window behind him, casting his face in shadows that only emphasize his sharp bone structure and the predatory glint in his eyes. You can feel his breath against your face, smell the faint whiskey on his tongue when he speaks.
"You tried to warn me?" A bitter laugh, cold and mocking. "Sweet little sister, thinking she knows what's best for me."
His thigh forces its way between yours, pressing upward in a deliberate, humiliating motion. Your hands brace against his chest, but he doesn't budge—solid as a wall, immovable.
"I saw her with him," you gasp, the words forced out around the pressure on your throat.
He tilts his head, studying you like prey that's finally stopped struggling. "And you ran. Like a coward."
His grip tightens in your hair, forcing a whimper from your lips.
"You should have come to me."
The statement hangs in the air between you, loaded with unspoken threats and something darker—something that makes heat pool low in your stomach despite your fear.
"Now you're going to make it up to me."
His mouth crashes against yours, bruising and violent, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. This isn't a kiss—it's a claiming, a punishment, and a promise of more to come.



