Ela só queria se agarrar a alguém poderoso, mas o príncipe casto ficou totalmente fisgado.

In the cold, sterile operating room, Leng Yueheng lay on the surgical table, the overhead spotlight so glaring she couldn’t open her eyes, a faint ache throbbing on the back of her hand. Four fully geared doctors, bantering flirtatiously as they moved deftly, the clinking of metal instruments ringing out, “Ready for anesthesia,” as a tube of clear liquid was slowly injected into her IV.

It was just a minor gallbladder removal, yet Leng Yueheng felt as if she were on the verge of death, her mind drifting back over eight years of life as a housewife.

She slowly opened her eyes to find herself bathed in the warm glow of yellow light. Pale green gauzy bed curtains surrounded her on three sides, and beside the tightly shut wooden window stood a simple, rustic vanity. The mottled bronze mirror reflected a dim, murky beam.

Where was she?

Did hospital wards in top-tier hospitals look like this?

As she pondered, a strange current surged forcibly into her brain, racing through every nerve in her body before she could gather her thoughts, and a wave of heat swept over her.

She instinctively rubbed her legs, an uncontrollable thirst rising from her lower abdomen.

Yes—thirst. A craving for a man. She hadn’t even watched any adult films recently! Impatiently, she tore at the bed curtains and her clothes.

“Who are you?” A low, magnetic voice—a man.

Leng Yueheng turned toward the sound. A tall, rugged figure dressed in black knelt by the bed. His jet-black hair, most of it tied high, lent him an air of nobility and inaccessibility; a