"Breaking news: famous dancer Isabelle Hartley was spotted by the paparazzi entering and leaving a hotel with her boyfriend. They looked very close, and people are already guessing the relationship has gone public!"
The moment Serena Whitmore heard it, she looked up at the TV. Just one glance was enough. She knew exactly who the man in the photo was, even from the back.
Ethan Blackwell.
Her husband.
"Tss..." She lowered her eyes and looked at the finger she had just nicked with the knife, then slowly brought it to her lips.
Other people might not be able to tell, but Serena could.
How could she not?
He was the man she had quietly loved since she was young. There was no way she would mistake him.
No wonder she had been unable to reach him these past few days.
So that was it.
He must have been spending those days happy and carefree with Isabelle, while she had been stuck here, terrified and sleepless because her grandfather's condition had taken a turn for the worse again.
Right then, the hospital room door was pushed open.
She turned her head at once.
It was Ethan, whom she had not seen in half a month.
For a second, she just froze, not even knowing what kind of expression she was supposed to make.
After glancing at her once, Ethan walked in. His gaze passed over her and settled calmly on the unconscious old man in the bed. His voice was flat, with no extra warmth in it.
"I've already contacted specialists from overseas. They'll arrive tomorrow."
Serena lowered her eyes and softly said, "Thank you."
After that, she fell silent.
Her silence, however, seemed to catch Ethan off guard. Only then did his eyes properly rest on her.
At that moment, the voice from the TV drifted through the room again, repeating the entertainment news.
Ethan didn't even look up.
He had already seen it on the way here, so he only lifted a brow slightly, like it was nothing.
Then he raised a hand and cupped her lowered face, making her look up. His dark eyes fixed on her delicate, beautiful features without blinking.
"You're mad?"
Serena's pupils trembled faintly.
She had barely slept these last few days. She had lost weight, and her face was pale enough to look almost translucent. Forced to tilt her head back like this, she seemed especially fragile, almost pitiful.
Her red lips parted a little.
She wanted to ask, "Do I even have the right to be?"
But in the end, she swallowed the words back down.
"No..."
Ethan looked at her weak, soft appearance, and his eyes darkened a shade.
He bent slightly, lifted her chin higher, and slowly rubbed the smooth skin there with his thumb, almost toying with her. His tone was light, but there was a faint hint of mockery in it.
"Then who are you making that face for, hmm?"
Serena knew him too well.
Well enough to know that this meant he was unhappy.
That was right—they’d been married for three years.
For all three of those years, Serena Whitmore had played the role of Mrs. Blackwell with extreme care. Careful with every word, gentle, decent, considerate, and always going along with Ethan Blackwell. She had never really crossed him, not once.
So, in his eyes, this Mrs. Blackwell of his had been acceptable enough.
That was probably why this marriage had managed to drag on for three years.
Ethan Blackwell looked at the faint trace of red on her lips. Against her pale skin, it stood out way too much, almost harsh. His gaze darkened little by little, turning deeper, heavier.
His thumb brushed over her lip slowly, rubbing it with a force that wasn’t exactly gentle.
Serena’s breathing hitched. Her lashes trembled as she looked up at him, only to meet a gaze so dark and unreadable it made her heart tighten.
She knew that look.
It was his signal. He wanted her.
She only hesitated for a moment before reaching up on her own and wrapping her arms around his neck. Then she closed her eyes softly and offered her lips to him first.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, pulled her in by the waist, and drew her onto his lap. One hand pressed against the back of her head, the other locked around her slim waist.
His kiss was just like him.
Overbearing. No room to breathe.