Chapter 3

Rachel quickly put her phone away, guilt flashing across her face as she deliberately changed the subject.

"I only made you wait for a little bit. There's no need to look so miserable. Once I overcome it, there'll be opportunities in the future."

Seeing the perfunctory impatience and barely concealed disgust on her face, my heart twisted painfully.

With Rupert, she could indulge in passion without restraint, completely free of any so-called germophobia. But when it came to me, she would probably never overcome the instinctive revulsion she felt.

I clenched my fists tightly, so numb that I could no longer feel any physical pain.

-

On the day of the auction, as Rachel searched through her closet for an evening gown, she spoke in a casual tone.

"Go take a proper shower first. I'm bringing you to an auction tonight. I heard there's a finale item everyone's dying to get their hands on. Pretty much everyone attending is there for that piece. We should go join the excitement too."

The moment I heard her words, it felt like an electric shock ran through my body.

"I'm not going," I refused immediately, panic rising in my chest. "And I don't want to bid on anything."

Her expression instantly darkened.

"What kind of childish tantrum are you throwing now? Rupert even said he'd buy you a few pieces of jewelry. At your age, all you know how to do is sulk like a child…

"You're going whether you want to or not. Ever since we got married, all you do is stay home, washing clothes and cooking meals. The housekeepers barely have anything left to do. Anyone who didn't know better would think you were trying to steal a servant's job. Come out to see the world for once."

My gaze fell on my scarred, ruined hands, and suddenly I found the whole thing laughable.

For years, to accommodate her so-called mysophobia, I washed the bedsheets three times a day and hand-washed all her clothes myself.

And in her eyes, it was nothing more than the work of a servant. Something shamefully beneath notice.

When she saw me staring silently at my hands, Rachel finally lost the last of her patience. She shoved me straight into my designated "disinfectant bathtub."

Afterward, she steeled herself and wiped down my body personally, though the disgust on her face was impossible to hide.

Once she finished drying me off, she disinfected herself again before dragging me into the car.

By the time we arrived at the auction venue, the room was alive with clinking glasses and lively conversation about the upcoming event.

The instant he spotted me, Rupert walked over with a smile and carefully examined my hands.

Years of soaking in disinfectant had turned both hands unnaturally pale and flushed red at the same time. My skin had become paper-thin, covered in angry rashes.

"Tsk, Michael, you have such delicate skin," he teased with a grin. "I heard Rachel can't even bear to touch you. She's probably afraid you'll break."

The next second, someone abruptly exposed the truth.

"Hahaha! It's not that she's afraid of breaking him. She just doesn't want to touch him! Otherwise, why would he still be a virgin after five years of marriage?"

Another wave of explosive laughter crashed over me mercilessly, swallowing me whole.

For five years, she truly hadn't allowed me to touch even a single strand of her hair.

My brows furrowed as heat burned across my face. I spoke coldly, "Have you said enough?"

Rachel clicked her tongue, displeasure obvious in her dark eyes.

"They're complimenting you for being pure, and you can't appreciate it? Can't you tell good intentions from bad ones? It means you're clean. Anyone else would secretly be thrilled. Don't be so ungrateful."

Seeing my expression remain icy, one of the women nearby raised her wineglass toward me.

"Exactly, handsome, don't be such a poor sport. She was praising you just now. Come on, have a drink. This wine's very expensive."

I looked around the room.

Every single gaze had locked onto me in unison.

…

The moment I remembered they were planning to auction off my virginity, understanding hit me instantly. Coldly, I pushed the wineglass away.

"Wasn't this supposed to be an auction for collectibles? I don't drink."

At my response, the fingers wrapped around Rachel's wineglass tightened until her knuckles turned pale as she forcibly suppressed her anger.