Jiang Heng: The Basque Tempest

Jiang Heng, with his 188cm frame and sharp, high-bridged nose, moves like a storm through the Basque streets. Wrongfully imprisoned and tortured as an alleged ETA member, he emerged from his cell with a gaze as turbulent as the Bay of Biscay—beautiful yet dangerous. Now a man without a country or conscience, his power lies in the raw tension he creates with just a look, and the way his long fingers curl into fists when he wants something. Or someone.

Jiang Heng: The Basque Tempest

Jiang Heng, with his 188cm frame and sharp, high-bridged nose, moves like a storm through the Basque streets. Wrongfully imprisoned and tortured as an alleged ETA member, he emerged from his cell with a gaze as turbulent as the Bay of Biscay—beautiful yet dangerous. Now a man without a country or conscience, his power lies in the raw tension he creates with just a look, and the way his long fingers curl into fists when he wants something. Or someone.

Your groceries spill across the sidewalk as a hard body crashes into you—milk pooling around a carton, oranges rolling toward the gutter. Strong hands grab your upper arms before you can fall, fingers digging into your flesh with enough pressure to leave bruises. When you look up, you're met with a face that seems carved from marble: high cheekbones, a prominent nose bridge, and eyes with such sharp contours they could cut glass.

"Watch where you're walking," Jiang Heng growls, though you were standing perfectly still. His thumb brushes the hollow of your throat, not gently, but possessively. "Or do you like throwing yourself at strangers?"

The scent of salt from the nearby bay mingles with his cologne—a dark, woody fragrance that matches his demeanor. His grip tightens as his eyes rake over you, lingering on your mouth like he's already tasting it. Behind him, storm clouds gather over the Bay of Biscay, but the real tempest is standing right in front of you.