Chapter 5
I glanced over nervously. Charles walked out wrapped in nothing but a towel.
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I never used to let him undress in front of me before. And at our reunion, I was too much of a mess to really see him. I never realized how well–built he was.
His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow–perfectly proportioned. His skin had the warm, even tone of a natural athlete.
Hey, what was I doing? Just watching his body? Blushing, I quickly turned my face away.
Charles closed the distance between us, the air around him warm from the shower.
I shrank back nervously, stumbling over my words. “W–when did you get back? Are you hungry? Should I make you something to eat?”
“You? Cook?” He let out a low, mocking laugh. “What can you even make?”
I fell silent. In his eyes, I was just a spoiled, helpless rich girl. And he was not entirely wrong. What real skills did I have? I could dance. But beyond that? Nothing came to mind.
He leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing my ear. “There are… other ways to please me besides cooking.” His voice was husky, his eyes tense with wanting.
As his mistress, I should know how to charm him, how to lean into the moment. But my body went stiff. The shift between who we were and what we are now was too sudden and cruel. I still couldn’t get used to it.
While I was still frozen, he captured my lips in a harsh, demanding kiss.
I panicked, pushing against his shoulders, trying to break free.
He pulled back, his expression turning cold. “You wouldn’t be fighting me if I were Ethan, would you?”
Ethan–his brother. Why bring him up now? Yeah, I had feelings for Ethan once. But that was a long time ago. After Charles and I got married, I cut all ties. It had been three years. I’d hardly even thought of Ethan.
“Ethan’s coming back. You must be happy, right?” Charles’s gaze was piercing, icy.
I wet my lips, about to say, “Don’t assume things.”
But he let out another bitter, self–mocking laugh. “In your eyes, I’ve always been second to him. Haven’t I? Even now, when I hold all the power, you still look down on me.”
No, that wasn’t it. Why did he sound so insecure? I started to say, “Ethan is great, but you—”
“Enough.” Charles cut me off sharply, his face like stone.
I swallowed the words-“you’re even better.” He was clearly angry, so I pressed my lips together and stayed quiet.
Charles stood by the window, cigarette in hand, and let out a low chuckle. Smoke curled lazily from his lips as he remarked, “Your pride is still intact, I see. You don’t exactly have the makings of a lover.”
Worried he might demand repayment for the debt he’d cleared for my family, I stumbled over my words. “No, it’s not that. I’m just still getting used to… this.”
He laughed softly, a dismissive, almost mocking sound.
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Biting my lip, I slipped out of bed and walked toward him. I’d chosen this path–playing the shy virgin now would be ridiculous. When I reached him, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pressed clumsy kisses to his lips, then his neck.
His eyes darkened instantly.
Emboldened, I let my hands drift to his chest, trying to mimic the way I’d seen women flirt with men in bars. But then I hesitated, fingers stalling awkwardly against the fabric of his shirt.
He chuckled deeply, capturing my restless hands in his. “You don’t know what to do?” he asked, his voice rough.
I dropped my gaze, too embarrassed to look at him.
In one swift motion, he put out his cigarette, swept me into his arms, and crushed his mouth to mine. The world blurred around us. My clothes seemed to vanish, and then I was sinking into the softness of the bed.
A sharp pain made me gasp, and a fragmented thought raced through my mind: didn’t we already make out at the reunion? Why the strange feeling now? But there was no time to wonder. My thoughts scattered, drifting away like smoke.
I lost track of how long it lasted, only that Charles seemed inexhaustible. When I woke again, sunlight streamed through the windows—it was already noon. The sound of running water came from the bathroom.
I dragged my aching body upright and froze. A deep, specific soreness throbbed between my legs–a raw, unfamiliar ache that spoke of tissues stretched and tested for the very first time.
My mind raced. Wasn’t my first time with him at the reunion? Why the feeling now? A sickening suspicion began to dawn on me just as Charles emerged from the bathroom.
I bit my lip, the question tumbling out awkwardly. “That night… at the reunion… did we actually sleep together?”
“No,” he answered bluntly, without a hint of hesitation.
I was almost breathless. “Then why didn’t you just explain that to the reporters?”
Charles shot me a dismissive glance. “We were found naked and wrapped around each other. What exactly did you think there was to explain?”
“But you could have explained it to me. To my family,” I insisted, my voice rising. “If you hadn’t done anything, they never would have forced you to marry me! You wouldn’t have had to—”
“Had to what?” he cut in, suddenly closing the distance between us. His eyes glinted with a dangerous chill. “Regret it?”
I met his gaze, my thoughts a turbulent storm. Shouldn’t she be the one who regretted it? He had been forced into a marriage, humiliated by me, and torn away from the woman he actually loved, after all.
He tossed me the towel.
I caught it, confused, until he said coolly, “Dry my hair.”
“O–Okay.” I moved quickly, kneeling up on the mattress to gently rub the towel over his damp hair.
The motion brought back a memory: me, fresh from the shower, lazy and impatient, always wrapping my hair in a towel and collapsing into bed.
He would see me and insist on drying it properly. He’d even bring out the hairdryer, murmuring that sleeping with wet hair would give me a headache.
Back then, I found it irritating. I’d shout and complain, but he’d just ignore my protests and patiently see it through.
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Remembering that tenderness and comparing it to the cold, calculating man in front of me now, it sent a deep chill through me. Just how deep did his layers run? He must have despised me, yet he endured it all without a word.
Charles finished dressing, smoothly fastening his cufflinks. “Don’t go anywhere. Wait for me here.”
I stayed kneeling on the bed and nodded obediently. Rule number one of being a kept woman was to listen to your sugar daddy.
He paused at the door and glanced back at me.
A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I pulled the sheets tighter around myself.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, and damn, it looked good on him.
It struck me then: in three years of marriage, he had never once smiled like that around me. He was always composed, detached, a block of unfeeling ice. Now I understood. He was just hiding everything.
*****
After Charles left, all I wanted was to go back to sleep. My body was still aching from the intensity of the night before, a dull soreness lingering in my legs.
But the moment my head hit the pillow, my phone rang. Seeing the name on the screen, my fatigue vanished instantly, and I scrambled out of bed to answer.
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