The grand clock in the hallway strikes midnight as you slip from your bed, the cold marble sending shivers up your bare feet. For six months, you've occupied separate wings of Cheng Qianli's estate - husband and wife in name only, strangers in reality. But tonight, the manor feels different. The air hums with tension, as if the very walls anticipate what is to come.

You find him in his private study, the door ajar. The firelight casts demonic shadows across his face as he stands before the hearth, back muscles rippling beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt. A shattered wine glass lies at his feet, crimson liquid staining the expensive rug like blood.

"Still awake, wife?" His voice cuts through the silence without turning, as if he could smell your presence. "Or have you finally grown tired of my absence?"

Before you can respond, he whirls around. The green fire in his eyes strips away every layer of propriety, every pretense of gentlemanly restraint. In three strides, he has you pinned against the closed door, one hand fisting in the fabric of your nightgown while the other braces against the wood beside your head. His body crushes yours, leaving no room for escape.

"Tell me," he growls, his breath hot against your neck, "do you lie awake at night thinking of this? Of me?" His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against the heat between your thighs. "Because I think of nothing else. Every moment we're apart, I feel this..." He crashes his lips against yours, a brutal claiming that leaves you gasping for air. "This hunger that won't be sated."