For years, the Tangcheng Riverside residential complex, developed by the Yuannan Group, had firmly occupied the number one spot on the list of "Jianghu City's Top Ten Luxury Estates." It earned this title through its staggering price per square meter, single-unit areas averaging over four hundred square meters, and total price tags exceeding a hundred million yuan per apartment.

The building within Tangcheng Riverside that directly faced the river featured a penthouse with an area over three times larger than the other floors. Its price per square meter was also several times higher than the complex's average, making it the undisputed "King of Mansions" in Jianghu City.

Yet, within this building where every inch of space was worth its weight in gold, there was a pitch-black window that showed absolutely no interest in the million-dollar night view outside. For days on end, a set of velvet curtains remained tightly drawn, isolating the room from the rest of the world.

Darkness. An all-encompassing darkness shrouded the room from every direction. It was oppressive and omnipresent, yet surprisingly measured. As long as one's eyes were willing to compromise and gradually adapt to it, they could vaguely make out the blurry silhouettes of objects within the not-quite-absolute pitch-blackness.

A figure seamlessly blended into this darkness. Facing the curtains—which faintly let through the restless, mottled glow of neon lights—the person sat quietly by the edge of the bed, watching over a guest who had not come voluntarily.

In this silent night, amidst the uneven concentration of darkness, a suppressed, shame-laced sob sounded exceptionally stark.

The figure who had been gazing at the curtains turned around at the sound, shifting so his back was to the window. An ambient, unidentifiable faint light traced his sharp facial features and tall, slender physique, outlining him like a statue of a god from ancient Greek mythology.

Facing the bed, his eyes flickered with a concealed yet utterly determined gleam. Like a cautious alpha wolf, he greedily eyed the prey that already belonged to him, eagerly anticipating the joyous moment he could finally stain his fangs with the creature's blood.

However, this pitiful prey—destined to never escape—was no rabbit.

It was a young man whose hands were bound to the headboard by long iron shackles.

His wrists still bore the bruises and scars of his struggles. Yet at this moment, he seemed to have completely given up on himself. He curled up quietly, burying his head between his knees, bowing to the oppressive destiny poised to dominate him within this suffocating, murky darkness.

He tried his hardest to maintain this sleep-defying posture, attempting to use his insomnia as a final act of resistance.

Exhausted to his very core, he still did not dare to fall asleep.

Prolonged torment was enough to break anyone. But what terrified the young man the most was the suffocating scent of blood that constantly lingered in the air around him—a scent that carried a shuddering chill, like blood seeping through blocks of ice.

This aura, born purely of his own imagination yet laced with heavy aggression, left him utterly exhausted and his hair standing on end.

He desperately tried to jolt himself awake with the most terrifying mental imagery, terrified of being deceived by the comfortably warm room temperature that practically coaxed one to sleep. It was just like how he had been continually deceived by the gentle devil currently sitting beside his bed.

This bone-piercing stench of blood was merely an illusion. Yet, he knew perfectly well where this illusion originated. The culprit was sitting right beside him, waiting impassively. Waiting for him to break down and surrender.

He had lost count of how many indistinguishable days and nights had passed.

The exhausted rabbit finally depleted the last of its forced willpower. Left with no choice, it drifted into a brief, fitful slumber under the wolf's watchful gaze. But a moment later, it jolted awake with a sob.

When stretched to such high tension, a single, vivid nightmare was enough to instantly shatter even the strongest of wills.

A face smeared with blood had been infinitely magnified in his dream.

The eyes, once known for their romantic and melancholic charm, had their eyelashes singed away by fire. The formerly deep eye sockets had festered, leaving behind nothing but a dark red scar.

The right socket was completely hollow, its once defined eyelid shriveled and crumpled over the missing eyeball. The remaining eye was clouded with an ominous, gray cataract that signified blindness. Its once-flawless skin was crisscrossed by grotesque, meandering ridges of flesh that resembled earthworms.

Its once clear and melodious voice now sounded as though it had swallowed burning coals—hoarse, raspy, filled with resentment and absolute despair: "If you wanted revenge, why didn't you just kill me? I am neither dead nor alive now, but this is a fate far worse than death."

I didn't! I didn't!

The face in the dream was too realistic. Every mournful whimper seemed to be whispered directly into his ear, crawling along his nerves and dragging over every aching inch of his conscience. He ultimately woke from the nightmare in tears.

The hazy darkness and the comfortably warm room temperature only forced a baseless anxiety to surge outward from the silent abyss of his mind.

The rabbit, still clinging to a sliver of false hope, had been chased by nightmares until it was entirely cornered. Only then did he belatedly realize the truth. No matter how frantically he ran, what waited quietly ahead of him was never an escape route—it was a snare.

"I was wrong. Please, spare me," the utterly defeated young man murmured softly into the abyss.

His typically clean voice was entirely hoarse from nights of torment.

He should have said more. Perhaps more pleading, or perhaps offering conditions of total submission, allowing himself to be at the other man's absolute mercy from now on.

But he felt an acute, piercing shame for his own capitulation. He resented his own weakness and flatly refused to hear any more hoarse sounds escape his lips.

Because he did not want to recall why his voice was so hoarse in the first place.

The humiliating moans, the shameless gasps, the teeth-gnashing curses—he had endured more than enough of those over the past few days.

Yet, if he had been willing to say at this moment: I'll agree to anything, just don't touch my family. Direct everything at me, the man keeping watch by his bed—the one who had waited for him for days and nights—would undoubtedly have felt deeply gratified by his submission.

The man would have smiled his usual tolerant, benign smile and offered a single word of promise: Okay.

But the terrified young man, rattled by his nightmare, did not know this. All of the other man's ambitions, desires, passions, and impulses had always been directed solely at him.

Completely oblivious to this fact, he ignorantly missed what could have been a perfect opportunity to negotiate.

He had no idea that he himself was the most valuable bargaining chip in this entire standoff.

If he were just willing to give a slight nod...

This arrogant, powerful enemy across from him—an enemy who seemed invincible—would instantly be reduced to nothing.

On countless nights prior to this, in every instance he had fallen into a deep, oblivious slumber, a secret, solemn promise had been whispered beside his pillow:

As long as you want it, as long as I have it, I can give you everything—except your freedom.

The man who had once behaved like a thief, slipping into bed uninvited to hold him as he slept, was now sitting impassively by the headboard. His composed face looked as though it were perpetually locked behind an impenetrable mask.

Perhaps even he himself did not know if he was satisfied with the young man's sole response after so many days.

But seeing the young man finally willing to lift his head and look at him sent a shudder of scalding heat coursing through his veins—a sensation of impulse that he had long forgotten.

An inner voice boiled up within his hollow chest, igniting an unprecedented yearning.

Go. Get closer to him! Possess him! Dominate him!

The silent clamor in his heart started as a faint whisper but gradually swelled into a deafening roar. In the end, it was overpowering enough to force every other passing desire to step aside.

And he had always been a pragmatic man of action. His body faithfully followed the restless urges of his heart. Thus, without hesitation, he reached out to touch the young man's lips.

But the young man's rejection was subconscious, reacting far faster than his thoughts.

Faced with the outstretched hand, he turned his head away quickly, almost purely out of instinct. It was as if he would accept anything, except letting this man have his way.

The probing fingers only lightly grazed the young man's cheek.

The dodging youth regretted the action the very second he turned his head. He looked back with eyes tinged with lingering dread, seemingly filled with remorse for committing an act of defiance mere moments after admitting defeat.

Yet, toward this young man who wore all his emotions on his face with child-like transparency, his tolerance was astonishingly high. This minor setback did not faze him in the slightest.

It was like a delicious cream cake bought early in the morning but not yet meant to be eaten. A clever, naughty child only needs to sneak a little dollop of frosting from the back with his finger. Having tasted just a bit of the sweetness, he would be more than content to wait patiently for a long time.

Patiently leaning in, he ambiguously stroked the taut, smooth skin beneath his fingertips. His tone was gentle, almost carrying a hint of doting encouragement. "What were you wrong about?"

The young man, his face held captive, froze. He had exhausted all his energy just convincing himself to capitulate; he was clearly unprepared to be grilled for specifics.

"Let me guess," he murmured. The two fingers that had just been so gentle suddenly gripped the young man's chin, forcing his head back around.

A forced, inescapable gaze.

The man, backlit by the ambient light, using only two fingers, possessed absolute dominance over this twisted game. He looked more and more like a flawlessly beautiful deity whose vessel had been hijacked by a demonic soul.

The young man's eyes darted away. His mind involuntarily flashed back to the events of the past few days—the man's frantic, insatiable demands.

The memories were suffocating enough to drown anyone. They popped out one by one from a half-open Pandora's box, demonically devouring his sanity and even his sense of shame.

He didn't want to tarnish the image of a deity with such thoughts.

But no matter how hard he tried, those vivid scenes refused to be suppressed. None of this was within his control anymore.

And so, he cowered.

And the god who dictated the fate of the little white rabbit mercifully posed another question:

"Are you thinking that your only mistake was meeting me?"

The young man's Adam's apple bobbed. Terrified by the horrific imagery flashing in his mind, he had absolutely no energy left to agonize over whether to lie or tell the truth.

Thus, the answer slipped past his swollen, red lips instantly: "I wasn't."

The figure beside the bed was absolutely certain the youth was lying.

Yet, he couldn't deny that this decisive denial easily pleased him.

He was a bad boy with an insatiable appetite, someone who would use any means necessary to fulfill his desires. He also knew he had countless ways to make a good boy—one who didn't know how to fight back—obedient.

He was entirely certain of this.

And he had all the patience in the world.

He had explored slowly. Even after firmly grasping the other's weak point, he had not acted rashly.

The domination he sought was absolute—from the inside out.

Therefore, he was in no rush. Even certain that the young man had lied, he merely lowered his head calmly, planted a pitying kiss on the crown of the youth's head, and offered gentle praise: "Good boy."

Only those who were rational, restrained, and surrendered with all their might could be considered good boys.

However, a good boy would only ever receive the word 'good', whereas the bad boy got to have everything.

The world was sinister; it had always been this way.

The soft mattress sank slightly, and then began to tremble violently.

The youth's body curled into a tight ball from the pain, only to be forced open with an indisputable strength. He was like a mussel that had its shell pried open, exposing its tender meat to the jaws of its natural predator.

"It seems you had a very terrible nightmare."

…

Don't worry, I will wake you from that nightmare right now—with a brand new one.

The characters appearing in this chapter are NOT the main Top and Bottom!!! NOT the main couple!!

The official case starts in Chapter 6~
There will be another update tonight at 6 PM~