Zoe Lancaster felt a sudden chill on her chest. With one of her legs bent and pressed against her chest, she was completely immobilized. The man towering over her had lost all his usual aloof nobility. It was as if he had ripped open his hidden, dark side, fiercely scorching her with its intensity.
"Simon Hawthorne...! What exactly are you trying to do?"
She couldn’t understand the reason behind his sudden, inexplicable rage. A mix of grievance and anger welled up in her heart.
His eyes were cold as he leaned down, uttering two words into her ear with a haughty air. Her eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t believe he would say such a thing.
She was left with absolutely no room to retreat. The man was relentless, not even caring if she could take it. Intent on seeing her in pain, he pushed forward inch by inch, his gaze locked onto her expression the entire time. "Are you going to say it?"
He was unusually obsessed with getting this answer. Zoe’s temper flared as well. Biting her lip, she glared at him with resentment. "You bastard!"
Seeing that the woman was stubbornly refusing to say those words, Simon clenched his fists. He stared at her, his long, charmingly cold eyes faintly bloodshot. He pressed against her fiercely, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her into a sitting position. He watched as she threw her head back in pain. He no longer showed a shred of pity. His reckless, forceful movements made it almost impossible for her to sit up straight.
Zoe bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound. He pressed against the back of her neck, forcing her mouth open. "What are you so ashamed of? We’ve done every absurd thing there is. I’ve seen it all, touched it all, and you don’t even dare to make a sound?"
Both angry and embarrassed, Zoe turned her head in a moment of desperation and bit down hard on the wrist resting on her shoulder. She showed no mercy, biting so fiercely she could almost taste blood. Simon furrowed his brows instantly, but he didn’t pull away, allowing her to keep biting him. It was as if he was willing to endure the pain right alongside her.
He even had the audacity to ask in her ear, "Why insist on going to Lance Langley’s company? What are you scheming? Do you think Miles Yates is a good person? So naive." The last sentence dripped with mockery.
Only then did Zoe realize what was going on. His abnormal behavior was all because of Miles Yates. He was throwing a fit just because they had been photographed together today. He must have seen the pictures. Was he angry because he cared about her? She figured that probably wasn’t the case. No man would allow someone else to trample on his masculinity. Simon didn’t love her, but men were inherently territorial. As long as a woman belonged to him, even if there was no love involved, he wouldn’t let anyone else lay a finger on her. He wasn’t defending her; it was merely his possessiveness acting up. He must have misunderstood something.
A wave of sorrow washed over Zoe. She had gotten into a conflict with Peyton Joyce today. Was he using this as an excuse to pick a fight and severely punish her?
"I—I’m not like you!" she managed to piece together those few words, exhausting all her strength. Her eyes were growing hazy under his relentless torment, and she was on the verge of collapsing.
Simon strangely paused. His deep, dark eyes stared intently at her flushed face. After a long while, he asked, "Are you blaming me?"
Zoe let out a self-deprecating laugh, her breathing ragged. "Does it matter if I blame you? Are you going to get rid of Peyton Joyce? Will you make her stay away from you? Don’t you think asking such a question is completely pointless?"
Simon’s expression remained largely unchanged. After a moment, he gave her a definitive answer. "Anything but that."
Zoe’s heart instantly plummeted into an endless abyss. No matter how hard she tried to piece herself back together, she couldn’t revive her spirits. She suddenly lost all her strength, her body going limp as if she had been swallowed by a black hole. She should have known. It was foolish of her to even harbor a sliver of hope for the answer she desired.
Zoe stopped talking. Turning her head away, she refused to look at him. She offered no response, no matter what methods he employed to provoke her.
That was until he grabbed her hand—the one with the band-aid on it. He stared at it deeply for a long time before planting an ambiguous, almost gentle kiss on her injury. His voice was notably hoarse, carrying a faint sigh. "Evie, resign."
It sounded like a concession, but deep down, it was still an order. This was the second time he had called her Evie.
Zoe’s damp eyelashes fluttered as she quickly snapped back to reality. "Why? On what grounds?"
Simon wiped the tears from the corner of her eye with his thumb. "I can provide for you. You don’t need to work so hard. I’ll give you ten million a month; it’ll be more than enough to cover all your expenses. Think about it."
Zoe stared at him for a long moment, pulling herself out of his illusion of tender affection. She smiled and said, "Do you want to provide for me, or are you just worried that something is going on between Miles Yates and me?" It was nothing but high-sounding rhetoric.
Simon furrowed his brows. Zoe knew she had hit the nail on the head. She took a deep breath. "Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need it. I’m not going to resign."
Simon’s thin lips curved into a sneer, the patience in his eyes gradually dissipating. "It’s just a crappy job. What exactly are you so reluctant to give up?"
Zoe didn’t answer. She just prayed for this to end quickly.
But Simon wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. He pinched her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Don’t you care about your mother lying in that hospital bed at all?"
Zoe’s face changed drastically. "Simon Hawthorne! Leave my mother out of our business!"
Taking advantage of her vulnerability, he thrust forward forcefully, watching her expression shatter. "I tried to discuss it with you, but did you listen?"
Zoe panicked and blurted out instinctively, "You’re not wearing one... Don’t do it inside!" She seemed absolutely terrified of getting pregnant, which only made Simon’s expression grow gloomier.
He ground his teeth in sheer irritation and stopped responding to her, immersing himself completely in the act.
Zoe’s consciousness was fracturing, but she still managed to speak. "If you’re going to be this reckless, I’ll just take the pill afterward..."
In an instant, he froze. He then abruptly pulled away from her, gripping her chin with a clenched jaw. "Zoe Lancaster, you’re ruthless."
In the end, he didn’t finish inside her.
Zoe finally had a moment to catch her breath. She was so exhausted that she didn’t have a single ounce of strength left. She curled up on the sofa, completely motionless. The sound of running water from the bathroom sent her thoughts racing. She wondered why things had become so awkward between them. Did Simon Hawthorne even have a warm heart?
Most likely infuriated by her, he had lost all further interest. He walked out with a cold face, carried her into the bathroom, and turned on the showerhead, spraying water all over her as a form of punishment. His large hands scrubbed her haphazardly, pausing for a few seconds over the scar on her lower back, seemingly by accident. After getting her cleaned up, he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her down.
Simon didn’t hold her as they slept. Instead, he got up and walked out onto the balcony to smoke.
Through her daze, Zoe caught a glimpse of the lighter. It was the one she had given him. A lighter that only cost a few hundred bucks was practically garbage to a man like him. Yet, he hadn’t thrown it away.
Zoe shook her head, stopping her runaway thoughts. She had almost deluded herself into thinking he cared about her, too. She rolled over and slept on her side, with her back facing him, refusing to trouble herself with pointless worries.
Out on the balcony, separated by a glass door, Simon leaned lazily against the railing. Only a few buttons of his white shirt were hastily fastened, revealing a large expanse of his muscular chest and prominent collarbones. His post-coital languor exuded an undeniable sexiness. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the drifting smoke stripping away his usual untouchable aloofness and replacing it with a dangerously captivating aura of desire.
He held the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled a plume of smoke. He stared at the woman’s fragile back for a long time. Raising his wrist, he examined the bloody bite mark near his wrist bone, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
Was she that terrified of having his child?