Serena Weston had that dream again.
Ever since her husband started sleeping in a separate room, the dream showed up every single night the moment she drifted off, like clockwork.
In the dream, a man clung to her like a shadow, tangling with her in endless intimacy. But the worst part—the guy was not her husband.
Her body was pressed deep into the soft mattress beneath the weight of a strong male frame. His breathing burned against her ear, dragging her whole being into his scent, and in one instant, every sense she had was swallowed by pleasure.
Serena bit down hard on her lower lip, stubbornly refusing to make a sound.
"Don’t bite it. Let me hear you," the man murmured by her ear, his low, rich voice rough with heat. The large hand gripping her waist suddenly tightened and hauled her hard toward him.
His scorching breath brushed her lips before he kissed her with a force that felt almost tyrannical, pulling her straight into a tide of pleasure with no end in sight.
The rush kept building, wave after wave, flooding every last nerve she had.
"Mm..." Serena finally let out a broken sound. Her fingers curled tight, digging into the back of the man above her.
Right before her mind slipped under completely, she asked in a daze, "Who are you?"
The man gave a quiet, unreadable laugh. "I am..."
...
"Dr. Weston, wake up!"
The concerned voice exploded beside her, and Serena snapped her eyes open.
Her chest rose and fell sharply, her breathing unsteady.
A flush still lingered across her cheeks, warm and suspiciously intimate. The scene from the dream was still vivid in her mind, so real it felt insane. She could even still sense that strange sticky heat left on her body.
It had already been a whole month.
Ever since that time she accidentally drank the spiked wine and ended up spending one tangled, feverish night with that man in her dream, he had started appearing every time she fell asleep.
She had never been able to see his face clearly, but she could feel the warmth of his body.
The path of his burning lips across her skin had felt so real it was honestly terrifying.
And those ambiguous marks he left behind on her body—
even after she woke up, they were still there.
Serena Weston suddenly found the whole thing kind of ironic.
She was an internationally known psychological counselor, held top-tier certifications like BACP and ACI, and was even the first scientific sleep researcher in the field.
And yet, when it came to her own mess, she was completely stuck.
"Dr. Weston, your brain waves just showed a sharp spike in a very short time. Up until the moment you woke up, they stayed unusually active."
"What exactly did you dream about? If you're willing to say it out loud, we can break it down together."
Serena looked away at once, her ears heating up. How was she supposed to say something like that?
Was she really meant to admit she'd been having an erotic dream?
Buzz—
Her phone suddenly vibrated. Serena pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was her mother.
She got off the bed and stepped outside to answer. "Xiaoling, tomorrow is your dad's fifty-fifth birthday. You and Nathan should come home for dinner. Your dad keeps saying he hasn't seen Nathan in ages..."
Serena was quiet for a moment before saying softly, "I'll ask him. He's been pretty busy lately."
After hanging up, she let out a helpless sigh.
Then she called Nathan Whitmore.
The call rang twice before he finally picked up. His voice was low and flat. "What is it?"
"Nathan, tomorrow..."
Serena had barely started when he cut her off. "I was just about to tell you, I'm going to An'an's parent-child sports day tomorrow."
Serena's brows tightened. "Tomorrow is my dad's birthday dinner."
"Xiaoling, if I don't go, An'an will get laughed at."
"I'll have my assistant send a gift to your father."
Nathan's tone was calm, almost detached, exactly like every other time he informed her of his decision.
An'an was his late elder brother's posthumous son.
After his brother died, Nathan had taken on that responsibility without hesitation. He had practically raised the boy as his own son.
This kind of choice had happened more than once.