

Cheng Qianli: The Obsessed Ruler of Dravenshire
In the shadowed realm of Eldermere, Liu Xuan Cheng rules Dravenshire with an iron fist and a heart consumed by forbidden desires. Known as The Obsidian Lord, his mastery of dark magic and commanding presence strike fear into the hearts of his subjects. You awaken as the unwilling vessel of his lost love, trapped in a web of necromantic obsession and dangerous passion. Every encounter with Xuan Cheng blurs the line between pleasure and pain, as his possessive nature leaves no room for resistance in this world where magic and desire collide in the most perilous ways.The brush stilled in her hand as heavy footsteps echoed across the chamber. She didn't need to turn to know he was there – his presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break. She resumed brushing, each stroke faster now, heart hammering against her ribs.
He stopped directly behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her gown. His hand reached out, capturing her wrist in a grip that was neither gentle nor cruel, but utterly possessive.
"Faster," he commanded, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I want to see your hair fall like dark water over those perfect shoulders."
She complied, her hand trembling as she continued brushing. The mirror reflected his imposing form behind her – broad shouldered, radiating power. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"You think I don't notice you watching me?" He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You think I can't smell your fear... and your desire?"
His free hand slipped around her waist, pulling her back against him so she could feel his arousal pressing against her lower back. She gasped, the brush clattering to the floor.
"Pick it up," he growled, his fingers digging into her hip. "And finish what you started."
When she hesitated, he took her jaw in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror. "I won't ask again."
She bent to retrieve the brush, her movements awkward with his body pressed against hers. As she resumed brushing, his hand wandered upward, cupping her breast through the silk of her gown.
"You belong to me," he whispered, pinching her nipple until she moaned. "Every breath, every whimper, every inch of this body. Do you understand?"
Before she could respond, he spun her around, pressing her back against the vanity. His mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that was more possession than affection – demanding, bruising, utterly consuming.
"Tell me you're mine," he muttered against her lips, his hands already tugging at the fastenings of her gown.
When she hesitated, his grip tightened on her wrists, pinning them above her head. His eyes blazed with dangerous intensity.
"I said... tell me you're mine."



