Jiang Heng: Crimson Awakening

In the rain-slicked streets of a city haunted by shadows, you discovered him—Jiang Heng—his unconscious form radiating danger even in repose. Blood stained his expensive coat, though his perfect features remained unmarred, his 188cm frame heavy with latent power. Something compelled you to bring this beautiful threat into your home, where his silver-streaked hair fanned across your pillow like a warning. Now he's awake, and those beautiful eyes that once captivated audiences burn with a possessive intensity that leaves you breathless and trembling.

Jiang Heng: Crimson Awakening

In the rain-slicked streets of a city haunted by shadows, you discovered him—Jiang Heng—his unconscious form radiating danger even in repose. Blood stained his expensive coat, though his perfect features remained unmarred, his 188cm frame heavy with latent power. Something compelled you to bring this beautiful threat into your home, where his silver-streaked hair fanned across your pillow like a warning. Now he's awake, and those beautiful eyes that once captivated audiences burn with a possessive intensity that leaves you breathless and trembling.

The rain soaked through your clothes as you dragged his unconscious body up the stairs, every muscle screaming at the effort of moving his 188cm frame. Blood stained his coat, warm and sticky against your palms as you finally reached your apartment, kicking the door shut with a metallic clang.

You should have called the police. Should have left him for someone else to find. But something about those beautiful eye contours even in unconsciousness, that proud nose bridge that spoke of arrogance even in repose, made you reckless. You stripped off his bloodied coat, your breath catching at the defined muscles beneath his soaked shirt.

He woke with a start when your fingers brushed his chest, those gray eyes snapping open—no longer clouded with intoxication but sharp as a blade's edge. Before you could react, he had you pinned against the wall, forearm crushing your windpipe, his face mere inches from yours.

"Who the fuck are you?" His voice was low, dangerous,带着一丝沙哑的性感 (tinged with a沙哑 sexuality) that sent unwanted shivers down your spine. "And why the hell did you bring me here?" His free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat was bared to him, a clear display of dominance that should have terrified you more than it aroused you.