After the ball ended, Karl had drunk too much, leaving Marylin to drive them back. She hadn’t touched a drop all evening—ever since Karl had admitted that he had kissed her the last time she got drunk, she had kept her guard up.
If he hadn’t confessed, she would never have known she’d been taken advantage of, and now, in his presence, she wouldn’t let herself drink anything at all.
After experiencing two of his kisses already, Marylin remained hyper-aware around Karl, her senses on high alert.
For Karl, her refusal only made him smile with narrowed eyes, saying nothing. He turned instead to enjoy the drinks with his colleagues and friends. If she wouldn’t drink, then he could be the one drunk. After all, he had countless excuses to cling to her.
When the ballroom emptied, Marylin supported Karl as they walked to the parking lot. His tall frame leaned against her, one arm draped over her shoulder, letting her guide him. Marylin gritted her teeth, enduring his subtle, sometimes deliberate closeness. She wanted to drop him right there, yet reason won over her irritation. She helped him into his car and drove them home.
The whole ride, it was hard to tell if he was truly drunk or just pretending. If he weren’t drunk, he seemed completely limp, eyes closed in the passenger seat. If he were drunk, he still whispered sweet words every now and then.
Shortly after setting off, he suddenly murmured, "Marylin, I really like you."
She glanced at him—his eyes closed, lips curling into a faint smile. The sweetness in that smile was enough to fill her with a strange sense of satisfaction. She realized she could make a man genuinely happy, and it gave her a deep sense of achievement. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NoveI~Fire.net
Her last relationship had started with confidence, but it ended in betrayal—he already had a wife, and she had been nothing but a hidden affair. That crushed her self-esteem. On the outside, she had remained elegant, but inside, she had doubted her own allure, both her beauty and her personality.
Yet in such a short time, Karl had restored her confidence. Not with grand gestures, but with a simple, genuine smile. Because he truly liked her, the happiness in his smile was authentic.
Biting her lip, Marylin focused on the road. At a red light, Karl reached out and grabbed her hand.
"Marylin, I’ve lived over twenty years, and this is the first time I’ve felt this way about a woman. Before you, all women were just... different creatures."
Marylin glanced at him, a mix of annoyance and disbelief, only to meet his clear, intense black eyes fixed on her in the night.
"You know," he continued, "when you walked toward me that day, it felt like my soul was stolen by you."
The words were rough, even a little corny—stolen soul—but they were Karl’s most honest feelings in that moment.
Marylin yanked her hand away and glared at him. "Who walked toward you? I was walking to Vivian and Zoey, okay?"
Karl chuckled. "I know. Back then, you didn’t even notice me, but my eyes only saw you."
The raw intensity in his gaze was overwhelming. Marylin lifted her hand and shoved his handsome face aside. "You’re drunk. Go sleep it off."
Marylin started the car and continued driving. For the rest of the journey, Karl stayed obediently in his seat, saying nothing, doing nothing. Yet Marylin’s heart was a whirlwind.
Unlike the men she had encountered before—those who wooed her with convoluted schemes and endless tricks—Karl’s pursuit was direct and simple, passionate and sincere. That kind of straightforwardness struck her heart in a way she hadn’t expected.
She was no longer a naive girl. At her age, a woman sometimes cares less about a man’s wealth or status, and more about his heart. After all she’d been through, she knew better than anyone that genuine affection mattered far more than any material power.
Money and influence were meaningless if a man didn’t care for you, if he didn’t truly hold you in his thoughts. Wealth without warmth was nothing more than an empty show.
So when a man like Karl repeatedly pressed on her heart with such fervent sincerity, she found herself struggling to resist, her emotions teetering despite the fact that she had just ended a fruitless relationship.
Sometimes the beginning of a new romance doesn’t depend on how long it’s been since the last one, but on whether this new man can truly move you. Even if only a few days have passed since the last heartbreak, a worthy man can still make you fall without hesitation.
The unworthy are quickly forgotten. The worthy will never be missed.
This was Marylin’s philosophy of love.
When they arrived at the apartment building where they both lived, a distant light caught her eye. Marylin’s expression stiffened—there was someone standing not far ahead, someone she absolutely did not want to see.
But after a moment of tension, she quickly composed herself and calmly drove forward, then reversed into the parking space.
After parking, she gracefully stepped out, clutching her handbag, and walked to the passenger side to support Karl, who still had his eyes closed, whether asleep or awake, she couldn’t tell.
The voice of a man waiting behind her sounded, heavy and grave.
At the same time, Karl, feeling her gentle grip, stepped out of the car—clumsily wrapping her into his arms—and in a drowsy, muffled voice asked,
That question was loaded with implications.
It was as if they already belonged together under the same roof.
The lingering intimacy between Marylin and Karl, their close embrace, only intensified the shock and anger of the man standing behind them.
Marylin locked the car door and supported Karl as they walked past, completely ignoring the man waiting there.
Karl wasn’t drunk at all. Every move, every word on the way back had been deliberate, a carefully orchestrated attempt to win her heart. When he had noticed her sudden stiff expression as they approached the building, he immediately spotted the man waiting downstairs. Now, leaning half against Marylin’s shoulder, Karl narrowed his eyes and studied him.
The man looked to be in his thirties—exactly the type Marylin had described as mature and steady. Handsome, impeccably dressed, exuding charm and refinement. Everything about him screamed success... except for the pain etched across his face.
Karl couldn’t suppress a cold, quiet smile. This man didn’t truly understand her. Showing up here now, what good would it do? He had already failed the moment he had hidden his marital status from her—his failure lay in his character.
Had she known he was married from the start, she would have kept him at arm’s length, never entertaining any romance with him. His integrity was forever marked as deceitful, and someone like Marylin—decisive, principled, and courageous—would never give him another chance.
The man’s voice rang out again, heavy with frustration, and his footsteps quickly caught up to them, blocking their path.
Marylin stopped, calm and composed. Karl remained unmoved, feigning drunkenness, leaving the confrontation entirely in her hands.
She glanced at the man standing before her, her expression cold and unreadable, and asked flatly,
"Do you have something to say?"
The man’s gaze lingered on Karl, who leaned casually against Marylin, before he finally asked, his tone strained,
Marylin’s eyes flashed with undeniable disdain.
"Who he is... has nothing to do with you, does it?"
It was true that, at one point, she had been drawn to him. He had been her superior, possessing all the charms a man of his age should have—handsome, elegant, articulate, composed, impeccably dressed, competent in his work. Yet that was all irrelevant now.