When Morrison opened the door, Karl was just about to call them. Seeing his brother appear, Karl quickly put away his phone and grinned.
"Ah, there you are, bro! Where’s Lilian? Didn’t she come here with you?"
As he spoke, Karl peeked past Morrison’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the room behind him. The curtains were drawn tightly, but he could make out the faint outline of a disheveled interior—clothes scattered, the bed vaguely visible through the dim light.
Morrison calmly shifted his position, subtly blocking Karl’s view. His tone remained indifferent.
"She was feeling a little carsick on the way. I told her to get some rest. Better not bother her for now."
Karl gave a casual nod, as if understanding—but his eyes lingered on Morrison.
His brother’s messy black hair, the lazy droop of his eyes, the thin sheen of sweat on his skin under the open collar of his robe—it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had just happened in that room.
Karl stood frozen for a second, stunned. He hadn’t expected Morrison to move this fast—straight to the bed the moment they arrived. He’d even been planning to flirt a little with Lilian during the day to provoke him... but it looked like he was already too late.
"You need something else?" Morrison’s voice was clipped, clearly impatient to return to the little girl inside.
Karl smirked and raised a brow. "Bro, why are the curtains shut in broad daylight? Napping?"
He leaned forward again to peek in. Morrison stepped firmly to the side, once more cutting off his line of sight.
"Didn’t sleep well last night," he replied coolly. "Catching up now."
"And I don’t want to be disturbed."
With that, he slammed the door in Karl’s face without another word.
Morrison hadn’t planned to tell Karl just yet about what had happened between him and Lilian. He knew the girl wasn’t ready—and frankly, neither was he. He wanted to talk to her first, make sure she understood. After all, he had taken her... while she was still Karl’s girlfriend.
After Morrison shut the door on Karl, he returned to the bedroom to find the girl curled under the blanket, struggling to reach her clothes beneath the bed. Her bare shoulders peeked out as she stretched, making him narrow his eyes.
"What do you think you’re doing?"
Caught under his gaze, Lilian turned red from head to toe. Just minutes ago, she had given everything to him—for the first time—and now being seen , by him, made her feel utterly vulnerable.
"Karl’s here... I have to go back," she mumbled, trying to reach for her dress.
But before she could grab it, Morrison beat her to it and tossed the garment aside, then climbed onto the bed, pinning her down with a practiced ease.
"Who said you could leave?"
Lilian pushed against him in frustration. "What do you want from me?"
His lips curved wickedly as he leaned down, brushing them against hers. "What do I want? I want you. Again."
Without giving her a chance to argue, he claimed her lips once more.
His kisses weren’t violent this time—they were hungry, yes, but layered with a terrifying tenderness that made Lilian’s heart ache. Despite the fatigue, despite her body’s exhaustion, she felt herself slipping again, her resistance melting in the heat of his embrace.
Morrison hadn’t touched a woman in over a year. And now, with her in his arms, soft and real and his, he simply couldn’t stop.
By the time he finally let her go, Lilian was a mess of tangled hair, flushed skin, and breathless sobs. She lay there, drained, while he looked perfectly satisfied—rested, even. He draped an arm around her waist and reached for his phone with the other.
"I’m calling your brother first," he said with a husky chuckle, voice still thick from passion. "Or maybe your parents. What do you think?"
She jolted upright, panic washing away the last trace of sleepiness.
"Wait!" she cried, grabbing the phone from him.
In her panic, she ended up sprawled across his chest. Both of them were still bare, skin pressed against skin. Morrison smirked and made no move to cover himself, instead letting his hands roam lazily down her back.
"Wait?" he murmured. "What exactly are we waiting for?"
He had made up his mind.
Last night, after Karl mentioned he might try something with her, Morrison had realized he couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching her. Couldn’t bear the idea of her walking out of his life like a stranger. He’d thought he could keep things casual—but his heart told another story.
So if having her meant taking responsibility, even marrying her—he was willing to do it.
The thought of a lifetime with one woman had once terrified him. But if that woman was Lilian, maybe it wasn’t so terrifying after all.
But for Lilian, the word marriage—especially when it came from Morrison—felt anything but real.
She couldn’t bring herself to believe that a man like him, a notorious playboy, would ever stop for someone like her. She couldn’t imagine him falling so deeply in love that he would willingly give up an entire forest just to stay loyal to a single tree.
In short, she didn’t trust him.
Maybe it was his reputation. Maybe it was how dazzlingly out of reach he felt, which made her painfully aware of her own insecurities. But either way, she didn’t believe him when he said he’d marry her.
To her, that promise felt like nothing more than a beautiful lie whispered in the heat of passion. A reckless vow made under the influence of hormones. Everyone always said men thought with the wrong part of their body—wasn’t this just one more example?
And if a marriage started from something like that, wasn’t it already doomed?
She didn’t want a marriage like her parents’. Or like her brother and sister-in-law’s—something that looked perfect from the outside but crumbled slowly from within, until all that remained was bitterness and a cold signature on divorce papers.
She would rather never marry than end up like that.
She knew her views on marriage had been deeply scarred by the broken relationships around her. So now, every time someone brought up the idea of marriage, her mind jumped straight to the worst-case scenario: divorce.
Once upon a time, she believed that if she ever gave herself to someone, that man would have to marry her. That he would owe it to her.
But now that it had actually happened... she realized something even scarier than giving herself to him: it was the unknown future that terrified her.
So she’d stopped him.
Stopped him from calling her family.
Because in that moment, what she feared wasn’t being abandoned.
It was being tied to someone she could never truly trust.