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Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, torture, and intense emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.
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Rong Xinghe glanced down at the mighty King of the Jungle nestled in her lap, his massive head pressing insistently against her thighs as if her warmth was the only thing he needed.
She smiled, amused.
Such a dramatic boy—forever craving her touch, her voice, her attention like it was the only tether to his world.
Still chewing on a slice of apple, she casually reached for another bite.
Zarar, however, had other plans.
He didn't approve.
A low, reverberating rumble emanated from his chest—more vibration than sound, more demand than complaint.
Then, with surprising gentleness, he pressed his forehead against hers. A greeting. A claim. A sacred promise sealed in silence.
Rong Xinghe let out a soft laugh, unguarded and warm.
She leaned in, resting her brow against his, and their eyes slid shut in quiet unison.
