The man's black shirt hung half open, exposing a broad, tight chest and the faint outline of sharp abs underneath.
In the dim, suggestive light, he strode toward Claire Weston on those long legs, every step carrying a pressure that felt almost suffocating.
Claire was so scared she kept backing away. "Y-you... don't come any closer..."
He kept advancing, step by step, until he had forced her all the way into the corner. Only then did he stop. His big hand clamped around her chin, and he stared at her with a cold, cutting look. "Still planning to run?"
Claire lowered her eyes, forcing down the fear as she shook her head. "N-no. I won't run."
He pinched her delicate chin and made her lift her head. Then his thumb rubbed hard across her lips.
"Claire Weston, stop thinking about leaving me. Even if you die, you'll only die in my bed."
His shameless, overbearing words made her face burn red. She was furious and humiliated all at once, but she still forced herself to swallow the disgust and anger.
She had no choice. Fighting him head-on would only make things worse. Better to act obedient. At least that way, she might suffer a little less.
To make herself look softer, more compliant, she lowered her eyes, and tears slipped down her cheeks.
"What are you crying for?" He lowered his head and, suppressing the heat raging inside him, bit down hard on her lip. His voice was low and hoarse, tight with restraint. "You really hate being with me that much?"
Claire kept her eyes shut and said nothing. Her long lashes, damp with tears, trembled lightly.
"Then who do you want to be with? Who?" He gripped her face, the corners of his eyes turning faintly red as he stared at her with a sharp, aggressive gaze. "Open your eyes. Look at me when you speak."
"No... no one." Claire opened her eyes with a tremble. Her gaze was shattered, fragile, as she looked at the man in front of her. Her voice caught as she pleaded, "Mr. Mercer, I don't want to be with anyone. I'm begging you... please let me go, okay?"
She begged in a soft, careful voice, hoping maybe, just maybe, he would show even the tiniest bit of mercy.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her with one arm. Holding himself back, he bit down on her neck, his voice dark and rough. "What you should say is, 'I want to be with Ethan Mercer.' Got it?"
Claire endured it again and again before finally saying softly, "I want to be with Ethan Mercer."
Under the crushing force of his presence, compromise was the only thing she could do.
His eyes darkened. Carrying her, he strode quickly into the bedroom and shoved her down with an urgency that was almost savage. His long fingers pressed in hard. "Has he ever touched you here?"
"Ah!" Claire cried out.
"Claire!" her assistant Serena Ashford asked anxiously. "Claire, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"
Claire jolted awake from the dream, eyes full of panic, breathing in huge, uneven gasps.
Hearing the cry, a flight attendant hurried over. "Ma'am, are you feeling unwell anywhere?"
The plane had just passed over Lingbei, and even the air seemed to turn dry.
Claire swallowed with difficulty, her throat rough and parched. She waved her hand. "I'm fine, thank you." Then she turned to Serena Ashford and said, "I'm okay. I probably stayed up too late revising the script last night and didn't rest well, so I ended up having a nightmare."
Revising the script was just an excuse. The truth was, after finding out she had to come to Beicheng today, she hadn't slept at all last night.
She'd finally managed to fall asleep after getting on the plane, only to dream that awful nightmare. Except it wasn't really a dream. It was something she had actually lived through. And after waking up in fright, there was no way she could go back to sleep.
The plane landed in Beicheng at 5:35 in the afternoon. It was late autumn. The sun hovered on the verge of setting, and the clouds at the horizon burned like fire.
The whole sky was bright red, glowing brilliantly, but the air in Beicheng was cold and dry, carrying a harsh, biting chill. It felt exactly like the man she still couldn't erase from her memory even after five years—third son of the Mercer family, Ethan Mercer.
A lot of people in Beicheng were afraid of Ethan Mercer.
Claire was too.
More than anyone.
She'd been so scared that for five whole years, she hadn't dared set foot in Beicheng even once.
This trip back to Beicheng wasn't something she wanted at all. She'd been pushed into it, basically dragged along with no choice, just like eight years ago when she was forced into that heavily guarded little building where he lived, and then forced into three years of entanglement with him after that.
Five years ago, she took a knife for Ethan Mercer. She gave up half her life for it, and only then did she finally earn the freedom to leave him.
The day she left had also been deep autumn. Sophora leaves drifted all over the city, and the evening clouds at the horizon blazed like fire.
Ethan Mercer stood beneath a sophora tree that had already shed all its leaves. The sunset filtered through those bare branches and fell over him, making his whole body look cold and deadly, like some kind of living Asura.