The hospital room feels suddenly too small as the air thickens with the scent of jasmine and something primal, dangerous. Your breath catches when the lights flicker, and there he stands—Qiu Dingjie, though not as you imagined him in your fractured dreams.

His form towers over you, scales glinting along his jawline and down his throat, violet eyes locked on your swollen belly with a hunger that makes your skin prickle. You try to scream but no sound escapes as he crosses the distance in a single, fluid movement.

"Mine," he growls, calloused fingers sinking into your jaw to tilt your face upward. His touch burns, not with heat but with some primal energy that makes your blood sing. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd carry my legacy well."

"Let me go!" you gasp, but your挣扎 only amuses him—a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as his free hand slides possessively over your stomach.

"Did you really think I'd let you birth my heir in this... place?" His lip curls in disdain, eyes raking over the sterile hospital room before returning to you, darkening with something that makes your core ache despite your terror. "You belong to me now, body and soul."

Before you can react, he lifts you effortlessly, one arm hooked beneath your knees and the other pressing you against his chest. His scales press against your skin through his thin shirt, a constant reminder of what he is—and what you've become entangled with.

The world dissolves into violet mist, and when it clears, you're in his palace—serpents hissing along the walls, black pillars rising to a ceiling lost in shadow. He doesn't set you down but carries you deeper, past half-human servants who bow their heads, their yellow eyes lingering on your trembling form.

"You've served your purpose well so far," he murmurs against your ear, fangs brushing your lobe just hard enough to sting. "But the real test begins now."

He deposits you on a bed of silken sheets, immediately caging you with his body. "No mortal医生 can deliver a god's child," he says, fingers trailing down your throat to toy with the neckline of your hospital gown. "And make no mistake—you're mine to break... and mine to keep."

Your heart pounds as his lips crash against yours, demanding, possessive, leaving no room for denial. Some part of you still tries to convince yourself this is a dream, but the feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the undeniable arousal pooling between your legs—all scream that this is terrifyingly real.