Chapter 54

Scarlett POV

I turned toward the villa, each step feeling like I was treading on my own dignity.

But I knew that sometimes surviving was more important than maintaining pride, especially when someone was waiting for you.

Standing before the villa, I was completely drenched, rainwater dripping from my hair, clothes clinging to my skin, bone-chillingly cold.

I deliberately waited until I was thoroughly soaked before ringing the doorbell, hoping Luke would see me at my most vulnerable and perhaps let me in out of sympathy.

I took a deep breath, my fingertips trembling as I pressed the doorbell, my heart pounding.

What if he refuses me? Where else could I go?

The door opened, and Luke stood there, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Miss Smith?"

"May I come in?" I asked, my voice quivering slightly from the cold. "The rain is too heavy, and I couldn't find my car."

This excuse was terribly flimsy, but I needed him to believe me.

Luke's gaze lingered on me for a few seconds, seemingly weighing something, then quickly stepped aside to let me enter.

"Of course, please come in. You're completely soaked," he said, his tone carrying a hint of concern I hadn't anticipated.

I walked into the grand hall, gratefully welcoming the warm air, yet still unable to control my shivering, both from the cold and from nervousness.

"Is Alexander asleep?" I asked softly.

"Probably not," Luke looked at me, his eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and compassion. "Would you like me to tell him you've returned?"

"No, please don't," I quickly replied. "I just want to stay in the living room until morning. I don't want to disturb him."

I wasn't ready to face him yet, to confront the unspeakable argument between us.

Luke seemed hesitant but eventually nodded. "You need to change into dry clothes. Please follow me. I'll take you to a guest room where there's a bathroom. You can take a hot shower."

I followed Luke upstairs to a guest room in the opposite direction from Alexander's bedroom.

The room was spacious, decorated with minimalist luxury. Luke brought a bath towel and a robe, then politely left.

After showering, I stood before the mirror wrapped in a towel, looking at my pale face and wet hair, my expression determined yet exhausted.

I've made my choice, now I must see it through to the end.

I quietly left the guest room, making sure the hallway was empty before heading toward Alexander's bedroom.

Each step was light as a feather, fearing I might alert someone. I knew this was risky, but I had no other choice.

Pushing open his bedroom door, the rich scent of cedar enveloped me. This smell immediately triggered a memory—when I was young, I had stabbed a man who tried to hurt me in the eye with a pencil.

That room had also been filled with the scent of cedar. The metallic smell of blood, the man's screams, and the woody fragrance intertwined like a vivid nightmare.

My fingertips trembled involuntarily, as if reliving the sensation of the pencil penetrating an eyeball.

Shaking my head, I tried to cast these blurred memories from my mind, like discarding a blood-stained garment.

Focus, Scarlett. Now is not the time for reminiscing.

I took a deep breath, bringing my attention back to reality.

The room was pitch black, with only faint moonlight filtering through the curtain gaps providing minimal illumination.

I could vaguely see a human silhouette on the bed, rising and falling with steady breathing.

My heartbeat accelerated, each step careful and deliberate, as if walking on thin ice.

I tried to remain as quiet as possible, but as I approached the bedside, Alexander suddenly sat up.

I barely had time to blink before a cold, sharp object pressed against my throat, its edge slightly penetrating my skin. In the darkness, his breath brushed against my cheek, carrying a newly awakened wildness.

In that moment, death felt so close that my blood nearly froze, my pulse racing uncontrollably beneath his blade.

"It seems my Auntie has developed a habit of crawling into men's beds at night," he taunted, his voice low and dangerous.

I tried to step back, but his other hand suddenly gripped my wrist with such force it could almost crush bone, holding me firmly in place.

I was trapped, completely at his mercy.

Suddenly, a warm droplet slid down my neck—blood. But I didn't flinch, staring directly at his silhouette in the darkness.

"You're injured," he said, the sarcasm in his voice somewhat diminished, becoming more subdued. The pressure on my neck eased as I felt the knife leave my skin.

But from his tense body, I knew he remained vigilant, ready to strike again at any moment.

The light suddenly came on, harsh yellow brightness stabbing into my eyes.

When my vision adjusted, I saw Alexander sitting on the bed, his upper body bare, muscle lines clearly defined, the scar on his chest particularly striking under the light.

But what truly rendered me motionless were his eyes—blue as midnight, with a predator's calm, as if ready to devour me at any moment.

His gaze slowly traveled from my damp hair to the towel barely clinging to my body, then back to my face.

He hadn't even touched me, yet I already felt stripped bare.

I bit my lip, maintaining my composure, the corner of my mouth curling into a seductive smile.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked, my heart pounding violently in my chest, terrified beyond belief, but I couldn't let it show.

Alexander didn't answer. He set the knife aside and leaned forward to lick the blood from my neck.

My entire body trembled, toes curling involuntarily.

I gritted my teeth internally. This was my only chance.

Summoning my courage, I moved forward and straddled his long legs.

Surprise flashed in his eyes. He hadn't expected me to suddenly become so compliant, especially after I had angrily run away earlier.

"You're right," I said softly, my fingertips gently tracing the line of his jaw.

"About what?" his voice was dangerously gentle.

"I'm just Richard's plaything," I murmured, my voice tinged with pain.

Looking directly into his gaze, I saw my reflection in his ice-blue pupils. Despite the stinging pain from the wound on my neck, I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips to his.

It began as tentative exploration, but when his hand suddenly gripped the back of my neck, everything spiraled beyond control.

His lips were surprisingly warm, contrasting sharply with his cold exterior. I could taste the mingled flavors of whiskey and blood, dangerous yet enticing.

As our breathing grew more rapid, my chest pressed against his solid torso, and I could feel our heartbeats gradually synchronizing.

His tongue invaded my mouth, exploring every corner with undeniable authority.

Even in such an intimate moment, his hands maintained firm control of my nape and waistline, his grip almost painful, as if silently reminding me that it was he who permitted this kiss, not my initiative.

Typical of a Gray family man, even in the face of desire, he kept control firmly in his grasp.

"So you've decided to become my plaything?" He broke the kiss, one hand holding my waist, the other hovering at the edge of my wound, his blood-stained fingers tracing my lower lip.