Chapter 2 Hello, Mrs. Robinson!

The mention of Quentin sent Lauren's mind into a tailspin. She had just finished plotting against him last night, and now she had to face him at the dinner table.

"Grandma, I suddenly don't feel so well. I want to go rest for a bit," Lauren said quickly as she stood up and headed for the door.

"Lauren..."

The Dowager's voice echoed behind her, but Lauren dared not linger any longer and hastened her pace.

"Ah!"

As she went ahead, her path was abruptly blocked by a strong figure, and her nose collided with something firm, causing her to wince in pain.

As Lauren looked up, her eyes met those deep orbs.

The intimidating presence, the captivating stare—his face was strikingly handsome, with not a trace of any superfluous emotion.

Lauren took a deep breath and, steeling herself, edged away to the side.

As she raised her foot, a firm grip seized her arm with authority. Quenti's strength was formidable, anchoring her firmly in place, rendering her unable to move.

"Mrs. Robinson , hello."

Lauren's spine stiffened, a chill running down her back as she shivered involuntarily.

Quenti's commanding presence and the piercing chill of his breath left her breathless, teeth clenched onto her lower lip. She kept her head down, not daring to meet his gaze.

The scenes from last night played in her mind like a movie on repeat.

Lauren felt utterly drained, wishing for a hole to crawl into to avoid facing him.

Reality, however, offered no such escape, trapping them in a tense standoff, surrounded by an awkward silence.

“Cat got your tongue?” Quentin moved his thin lips slightly, a tinge of displeasure in his tone.

Lauren's gaze lowered, her lips quivering as she uttered, “I was not feeling well. I informed Grandma I needed to lie down.”

Her voice carried a noticeable quiver as she spoke the words.

Quentin watched her with interest, and after a brief silence, he chuckled, “Look up!”

His tone was commanding, and brooking no argument.

Lauren reluctantly raised her head, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

“Look at me,” Quentin's voice deepened.

This so-called wife had never caught his attention; if it weren’t for tasting her allure last night, he wouldn’t have realized the charm she possessed.

But the anger in him ignited at the thought of the tactics she had used on him.

He had assumed her to be a yes-woman, but she was just as bad as the rest, no different from those women who schemed their way into his bed.

Seeing her evasive eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, Quentin grew furious. His large hand grasped Lauren's jawline, forcing her to look at him.

His piercing gaze laid bare upon her as he said, each word with intention, “What happened to all that fiery passion from last night’s romp in the sheets?”

At his words, Lauren’s face turned the shade of a ripe persimmon, so mortified that this private affair was spoken of so casually.

No wonder his scandals and affairs were numerous; he never showed restraint.

To Lauren, his flippant remarks felt like the most blatant form of insult.

If he wasn’t going to show her any respect, why should she save his dignity?

Lauren scoffed with a cunning glint in her once panic-stricken eyes, casting a sideways glance at Quentin, “Mr. Robinson, seems like you enjoyed last night’s service, huh?”

All men were the same, reveling in their affairs but unable to stomach their wife's incompliance.

So, when Quentin heard her retort, Lauren saw plain anger cross his face, stirring a sense of victory in her.

She continued, "Mr. Robinson, can you let go of me?"

Quentin's eyes narrowed, his gaze deep and perilous with a warning.

The Dowager, observing their interaction, brightened up, surprised at how well they played off each other. Especially how Quentin looked at Lauren, she thought there might be hope for great-grandchildren yet.

"Quentin, bring Lauren along for dinner!" exclaimed Dowager, clearing her throat.

"Sure thing, Grandma," Quentin replied, always dutiful and eager to heed the Dowager's words.

Lauren had no choice but to tag along.

"Lauren, why don't you sit next to Quentin?" Dowager suggested.

"Okay, Grandma," Lauren agreed obediently, throwing a glance at the nonchalant man beside her, and with a hint of resignation, took her seat.

"Let's begin! No need to be formal," Dowager announced.

Quentin scooped up some soup, placing it lovingly on Lauren's plate. "Eat up, Lauren," he said with indulgent affection.

Seeing his harmless facade, a shiver went through Lauren. His kindness was more terrifying than his anger!

She forced a smile, "Thank you, Mr. Robinson."

Throughout the meal, Lauren felt as though she were sitting on pins and needles, each minute a torture.

When it was finally time to leave, unexpectedly, Quentin insisted on accompanying her home, an unprecedented move.

In the confined space of the car, Lauren, full of anxiety, looked over at Quentin in the driver's seat. "Isn't it unusual for you to come home, Mr. Robinson?"

"Do you not want me to?" he raised an eyebrow.

Lauren was speechless.

"Didn't you ask if I wanted to meet again?" Quentin's lips moved slightly as he rested his long fingers on the steering wheel, his posture exuding a lazy charm.

His index finger tapped lightly, each tap echoing in Lauren's chest, making her so nervous she could hear her own breathing.

"My answer is 'yes'," Quentin turned to look at Lauren, a devilish smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

The whole ride, Lauren felt on edge, her heart in turmoil.

The night before they were intimate, today they seemed worlds apart.

Undoubtedly, she couldn't read the man in front of her.

She was his closest confidante in bed and yet the insignificant wife he barely regarded.

Once in the bedroom, his force was surprisingly strong that a gentle push nearly sent her crashing to the floor.

Luckily, she braced herself against the bed and managed to stand.

"I didn't know you were so eager!"

His chilling, deep voice came from behind, sending a cold shiver through Lauren.

Instinctively, she turned around to explain, only to find that he had quickly closed the gap between them.

His piercing presence mixed with his unique scent overwhelmed Lauren, her heart racing as if about to leap out of her chest.

Such closeness seemed to only replicate the intimacy from the previous night.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the alcohol, but last night's sultry atmosphere didn't leave her this jittery. Now, as their eyes met, she felt so nervous she could barely breathe.

Her glistening eyes were like those of a startled deer, timidly looking at Quentin as if she were a child caught in a misdeed.

The air around them quieted in an instant, time freezing at the moment their gazes locked.

Lauren couldn't help but bite her lower lip, her hanging fingers clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her flesh, yet she felt no pain.

"I... I didn't…" Despite attempting to object, Lauren's voice came out inadvertently revealing, lacking any conviction.

With an unwavering gaze, Quentin's deep eyes locked onto hers as he raised his hand, his long fingers gripping Lauren's chin, compelling her to meet his stare.

"Anyone who dares to deceive me," he murmured, "I will make sure they disappear from this world."