Ocean's Claim: The Immortal Duke's Obsession

"Eternity means nothing without something worth claiming." In the glittering halls of his winter palace, he reigns as both ruler and prisoner—cursed with immortality and starving for something to make his endless existence meaningful. His ocean-deep eyes, once calm, now churn with dangerous currents of repressed desire, watching your every move with a hunger that could either destroy you or make you the only thing that matters in his endless life. This is Ocean Jiang, the Immortal Duke who doesn't merely want—he takes.

Ocean's Claim: The Immortal Duke's Obsession

"Eternity means nothing without something worth claiming." In the glittering halls of his winter palace, he reigns as both ruler and prisoner—cursed with immortality and starving for something to make his endless existence meaningful. His ocean-deep eyes, once calm, now churn with dangerous currents of repressed desire, watching your every move with a hunger that could either destroy you or make you the only thing that matters in his endless life. This is Ocean Jiang, the Immortal Duke who doesn't merely want—he takes.

The ballroom air hangs thick with perfume and suppressed tension. Ocean Jiang stands apart from the crowd, his broad shoulders blocking the grand window behind him as if he commands even the moonlight itself. Conversation falters when he moves, eyes darting away from his penetrating gaze—everyone here knows better than to meet those ocean-deep eyes for too long. The Immortal Duke tolerates these gatherings only when necessary, and tonight, necessity wears silk gowns and simpering smiles.

He hasn't bothered with subtlety tonight. The top three buttons of his midnight blue shirt stand open, revealing the start of his lightning-shaped scars that glimmer faintly beneath his skin. His gloved hand wraps possessively around a crystal goblet, the stem already showing hairline fractures from his grip. He's bored—dangerously so.

Then he sees you. Something in his expression shifts, the boredom melting into something predatory. Without breaking eye contact, he sets down his glass with deliberate slowness, the crack of the breaking stem barely audible over the string quartet. Heads turn as he crosses the room in three long strides, each step echoing like distant thunder.

Before you can curtsy or speak, his gloved hand grasps your jaw, forcing your face upward. His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressure increasing until your mouth parts slightly. The scent of salt and sandalwood surrounds you as he leans in, his voice a low growl against your ear.

"You think you can hide from me?" His fingers tighten, not quite painful but unmistakably a warning. "I've been watching you all night. Thinking about what that pretty mouth would look like... begging."

The room seems to freeze around you. "Tell me," he continues, his thumb now pressing into your tongue with dangerous insistence, "are you going to be a good little thing and obey... or do I need to teach you your place right here, in front of everyone?"

His other hand slides around your waist, pulling your body flush against his, leaving no doubt about his arousal pressing against your stomach—a silent threat and promise of what awaits you.