He didn't say another word. He leaned down, firmly gripped the back of her head, and kissed her fiercely with an almost devouring force. This kiss carried no tenderness, filled with the intensity of tequila and the suppressed, nearly violent aggression of ten years. But just as Chloe was almost suffocating, that wild force miraculously retreated, transforming into a deep, meticulous exploration, like savoring an exquisite vintage. With his tongue, again and again, he traced the shape of her lips, as if completing a puzzle piece that had been missing from his memory for ten years.

He picked her up and strode toward the large bed. This time, he didn't throw her onto it, but gently placed her in the center. He didn't immediately press down on her, but knelt on one knee, surveying her from above with a dominating posture. His gaze, like a scorching scalpel, stripped away all of her pretenses.


He grabbed the strap of her champagne-colored silk dress, paused for a moment, then with a crisp "rip" sound, tore the expensive silk apart.

He finally had her completely revealed before his eyes.

He didn't rush. His kisses, with an almost reverent, redemptive quality, fell on her tightly closed eyelids, then the tip of her nose, and finally on her slightly trembling lips. His hands, as if surveying his own territory, moved slowly yet powerfully over every inch of her skin. When he felt her body transition from stiffness to uncontrollable trembling under his touch, he knew that this long-abandoned temple was gradually awakening under his hands.


His kisses traveled downward, past her flat stomach, and finally rested on that most mysterious valley he had been yearning for an entire decade.

"No… don't…" Chloe regained a trace of rationality and instinctively pressed her legs together, trying to prevent this intimate act that made her feel incredibly ashamed. This was an experience she had never had before; Daniel had never done such things to her.


Julian ignored her verbal protest. With his knee, forcefully yet with undeniable gentleness, he parted her legs once more. Then, he lowered his head and worshipped her in the most direct, most primal way, giving her an unprecedented, ultimate adoration.

Chloe's world exploded into brilliant, blank fireworks. An unprecedented, extreme pleasure consumed her like a tsunami. Her mind went blank, her body arched uncontrollably, her long legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and her fingers dug deeply into the sheets beneath her.

In this "lesson" led by him, with her pleasure as the sole purpose, Chloe was completely lost. She didn't know who she was or where she was, only able to emit broken cries and gasps that even she couldn't understand, like a drowning person in wave after wave of rising tides.

As she trembled violently from this extreme pleasure, on the edge of collapse, Julian finally raised his head. He looked at her face, unnaturally flushed from intense desire, and her unfocused eyes glistening with moisture.

Then, he guided his burning desire, which had already been pushed to its limits, toward her welcoming warmth, and without hesitation, plunged all the way in with one thrust.

"Ah——!"

Chloe let out a short, sharp cry mixing pain and extreme satisfaction. It was too full, too hot, too present. This feeling of being completely filled, almost torn apart by a man was an experience she had never had in the two years of her marriage.

Julian gave her no time to adjust. He gripped her waist and began the most primal, direct rhythm. No technique, no gentleness. Each of his thrusts was like an exorcism ritual, heavy and powerful, as if attempting to completely purge the incorrect, cowardly imprint of "Daniel" from her body, one stroke at a time.

The springs of the hotel's premium mattress produced rhythmic squeaks under this wild impact, mingling with Chloe's broken, uncontrollable moans that escaped from deep in her throat.

He turned her over, making her kneel on the bed, and entered her again from behind. This position allowed him to go deeper, and also let him see more clearly how each of his thrusts left his mark on her body. His free hands were not idle; one hand gripped her slender neck, while the other left possessive marks on her soft skin.

After an unknown amount of time, when he felt her beginning to tighten around him, he knew she was close. He increased his pace, each thrust deeper and more forceful than the last, until she let out a sharp cry beneath him that seemed to pierce the heavens, then collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.

He didn't stop. Gripping her waist, he continued until, a few minutes later, with a suppressed growl that was somewhere between agony and satisfaction, almost bestial in nature, he finally found his release deep inside her.

He didn't withdraw immediately, but pressed his full weight onto her, forcing her to bear his lingering presence. His breathing was heavy and hot against the back of her ear, like a branding iron.

Several minutes later, he finally withdrew and rolled over to lie beside her, pulling her sweaty, still slightly trembling body tightly into his embrace before falling into a deep sleep.

Middle of the night.

Chloe was awakened by an overwhelming thirst.

The hangover headache felt like countless steel needles stirring in her temples. Her throat was so dry it almost burned, and her body felt waves of coldness from dehydration.

She propped herself up, wanting to find water to drink, but froze the moment she sat up.

This wasn't her home.

This was a completely unfamiliar hotel suite with cold, harsh yet luxurious decor. In the air lingered a strong scent of intimate encounter. And she… was completely naked, her expensive gown torn into several pieces, thrown at the foot of the bed.

What terrified her even more was when she looked down, by the faint light coming through the window, she saw her inner thighs, waist, abdomen, and chest covered with purplish marks, as if mauled by a beast.

Memories of last night flashed back in her mind like a chaotic, fast-forwarded movie.

Julian's scorching body temperature as he pressed against her.

His dominant, irrefusable movements.

His persistence in calling her name, again and again, in her ear, with that hoarse voice.

And her own… her own completely uncontrollable, unfamiliar, broken moans…

Boom—

The color drained completely from Chloe's face in an instant.

What had she done?

She had just discovered the scandal between her husband and her younger brother, had just been labeled as "completely charmless," and then turned around and thrown herself into another man's bed in desperation.

And this man was Julian, of all people.

The same man who, ten years ago, had looked at her with the coldest eyes and told her "you're not my type." The same man who, in order to reject her, had found a girlfriend who was her complete opposite—fiery and passionate—to make a show of it.

A man who, from beginning to end, had made it perfectly clear that he "disliked" her.

Why would he… sleep with her?

Was it out of sympathy? Or… was it because she was drunk and thus easier to take advantage of?

An overwhelming sense of chaos and shame enveloped Chloe like a suffocating net, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. She couldn't face it. She couldn't face the man sleeping deeply beside her, and even more so, she couldn't face her own disgraceful self.

Her only thought at this moment was to escape.

Like a frightened thief, she crawled off the bed, frantically searching for her clothes in the dim room. She didn't dare turn on the lights, relying only on memory to hastily wrap her tattered dress around herself.

Her hands trembled violently from panic, failing several times to fasten the clasps on her dress. She found her handbag and stuffed her phone and wallet into it haphazardly, just wanting to get away quickly from this "crime scene" that was suffocating her.

When she grabbed the handbag draped over the dressing table chair, a pearl earring slid out from a side compartment, silently falling into the thick, dark wool carpet.

Chloe didn't notice it at all.

Like a frightened bird, she ran barefoot down the quiet hallway, pressing the elevator's down button with trembling fingers.

The elevator door opened with a "ding"—a sound that, in the silence of the deep night, resembled a death knell.

She rushed inside, frantically pressing the door close button and the lobby button. When the elevator doors slowly closed, sealing her inside this descending metal box, she finally gave way, leaning against the wall and slowly sliding down to the floor.

She didn't cry.

She just hugged her knees, burying her face deeply into them, like an ostrich futilely trying to escape this completely incomprehensible, chaotic, brand-new day.

The hotel room door closed with an almost inaudible click.

In the vast and silent presidential suite, Julian remained asleep, completely unaware.

At the foot of the bed on the dark carpet, a solitary pearl earring gleamed with a cold, abandoned tear-like luster in the first faint light of dawn.