Janet’s fingers, cold as ice, brushed against the glass. Only then did she realize how low the temperature in the room was.
A chill crept into her body.
She tightened her grip on the glass.
As the man turned to leave, she opened her mouth, wanting to ask something—but the words never made it past her lips.
Tonight... was it truly her wedding night?
The realization brought with it a wave of fear.
The warm milk slid down her throat, instantly easing the tension in her stomach.
A rare sense of comfort bloomed in her chest.
She sat quietly at the edge of the soft Simmons bed, waiting for the man the servant had referred to as "young master."
What kind of man would he be?
She knew nothing about him—not even his name.
All she remembered was that moment when she nodded in agreement, and how Anila and Elvira’s eyes had gleamed with vindictive satisfaction.
To her, they had always been a luxury she could never afford.
And in the past, she had never needed them.
"Philip, are you serious?"
Charles’s voice was laced with disbelief.
He stared at his brother, eyes darkening as they fell upon Philip’s motionless legs.
A deep, cold knot formed in his chest.
A man can bleed, can suffer—but he must never lose his dignity.
"Whether I can or not... only I know the answer," Philip said, a soft smile on his lips.
He met Charles’s dark, brooding gaze, his own eyes reflecting a silent plea.
Because he knew—if he asked, Charles would never refuse him.
"No. Absolutely not. It’s not fair to you," Charles snapped, his voice sharp with tension.
It was absurd. Unthinkable.
Yes, he had hesitated when he heard her name.
But that moment of weakness had long passed.
Between Janet and Philip, he knew clearly which one mattered more.
"The one it’s most unfair to... is her."
Philip looked up, his voice low, steady, yet full of pain.
"I’m a cripple, Charles. I don’t want to disappoint Father again. You know he’s watching me—watching us."
His lips trembled ever so slightly, but his eyes were clear.
"Just this once, help me. Please."
There was a kind of sorrow in his voice that pierced deeper than guilt or shame.
Between a father’s expectations and a brother’s sacrifice—Philip had always tried to carry both.
But this time, Derrick had made it clear: he wanted his disabled son to live like a real man.
Even if Philip’s body could somehow endure it... he didn’t want to ruin that woman’s life.
In that moment, the cold night air seemed to spark with invisible friction.
Janet felt something strange rushing through her veins—
She reached up to her slender neck with trembling fingers,
A scalding pressure welled up in her throat, like molten lava on the verge of eruption.
Her eyes glazed over as she stared out the window.
A soft, boneless hand brushed against her burning cheek—
Her skin was far too hot.
Her mind grew heavier by the second, clouded and slow.
She collapsed onto the center of the massive bed,
Her hands wandering restlessly across the sheets—
as if searching for something...
But she didn’t even know what she was reaching for.
Before her consciousness slipped away entirely,
she clearly felt a searing male body press down onto hers.
And the room, once dimly lit,
was swallowed whole by darkness.
Two bodies, as if trapped in a feverish abyss, sought each other’s souls in desperate harmony. Strangers yet achingly familiar. Janet tried to push the man pinning her down, but her limbs felt leaden. What began as resistance melted into reluctant surrender...
"Wh-who are you?" Her voice fractured into a breathless whisper, lips parched as she nervously wet them with her tongue. Everywhere his electrifying hands roamed, they ignited waves of pleasure—shameful, intoxicating. Heat bloomed across her cheeks, crimson as a lily unfurling in midsummer’s night, yielding to the man who plundered her innocence.
Her trembling—a mix of fear and tension—only deepened his hunger.
"Tonight," his voice curled like smoke into her ear, "you’re mine."
A whimper escaped her as his lips claimed hers, flooding her senses with raw masculinity. In the pitch-dark room, his hypnotic murmurs and ragged breaths drowned her resolve.
This night would never end.
Yet Janet knew: what came next was the price of her choice. There was no turning back.
When searing pain tore through her, she flinched, brows knotting. Sensing her distress, he scattered tender kisses across her forehead, waiting. As she relaxed, he sheathed himself fully—and with that thrust, Janet severed ties with her past.
No words. Only sweat-slicked skin and tangled breaths.
The room hummed with heat. After the barrier shattered, all she felt was the narcotic pull of this enigmatic man—her husband?
He took her relentlessly until dawn. Exhausted, she finally drifted into sleep. Yet he lingered, tracing her flushed face, brushing damp hair from her forehead. Her strands coiled around his fingers like secrets. A bittersweet ache swelled in his chest.
After tonight, she’d never be his again.
The first ray of sunlight in the morning shone through the floor-to-ceiling window, reflecting into the red, enchanting room. Janet habitually opened her eyes and immediately felt a pain as if her body had been torn apart and reassembled. The memories of last night’s intense passion rushed into her mind, and a bashful flush slowly crept up her cheeks. As she bent over to look down, she realized she was wearing a luxurious sleepwear set she didn’t remember putting on. The soft fabric, clearly high-quality, seemed out of place for a woman in her situation. Now sitting on the large bed, Janet looked around at the opulent decorations, but the man from last night was no longer by her side. The cold air felt devoid of the usual warmth left after intimacy.
Only the vivid red mark on the spacious bed reminded her that this wasn’t a dream, but a reality.
But why did the mysterious man leave her with such a sense of unease and uncertainty?