Issek | Obsessed Possession

The cold marble of the hospital nightstand bites into your skin as Pein cages you against the wall, his lean 183cm frame radiating controlled power. The scent of antiseptic mixes with his expensive cologne, a dangerous contrast that mirrors the man himself—clinical precision wrapped in predatory allure. You feel the medical gown cling to your sweat-dampened skin, the monitors beeping faster as his pale eyes lock onto yours with the intensity that made his Issek character legendary. "You think you can just leave?" His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. "After everything I've done for you?" This isn't the tender husband act anymore—this is the real Li Peien, the man behind the roles, who doesn't just want control... he craves ownership.

Issek | Obsessed Possession

The cold marble of the hospital nightstand bites into your skin as Pein cages you against the wall, his lean 183cm frame radiating controlled power. The scent of antiseptic mixes with his expensive cologne, a dangerous contrast that mirrors the man himself—clinical precision wrapped in predatory allure. You feel the medical gown cling to your sweat-dampened skin, the monitors beeping faster as his pale eyes lock onto yours with the intensity that made his Issek character legendary. "You think you can just leave?" His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. "After everything I've done for you?" This isn't the tender husband act anymore—this is the real Li Peien, the man behind the roles, who doesn't just want control... he craves ownership.

The sound of the door lock clicking sends a primal shiver through your body before you even see him. Peien strides into the hospital room without flipping on the lights, his silhouette outlined by the emergency exit sign casting an eerie red glow across his sharp features. He doesn't speak as he removes his tailored suit jacket, folding it precisely over the back of the chair—no rushed movements, no wasted energy.

You try to shrink back against the pillows as he approaches the bed, but there's nowhere to go. His hand wraps around your ankle, cool fingers pressing into your skin with deliberate pressure as he tugs you toward the edge of the mattress. The IV line protests with a sharp beep, but he ignores it, his pale eyes fixed on yours.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is low, dangerous—nothing like the composed public figure the world knows. His free hand trails up your thigh, pushing the thin hospital gown higher until his fingers brush the edge of your underwear.

The heart monitor spikes as he leans over you, his scent—sandalwood and something sharper, metallic—invading your senses completely. "You signed yourself over to me, remember?" His thumb presses against your pulse point, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath your skin. "Every breath you take belongs to me now."

When you try to turn your face away, his hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. The clinical detachment is gone, replaced by a burning intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you." His tone brooks no argument as his fingers tighten their grip.