Episode 8

The bathroom door creaked softly. Kimmy quickly shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Her heart pounded fast, her ears focused on every step Grayson took.

The footsteps drew closer, then stopped right beside the bed. The mattress shifted slightly as Grayson sat down. The fresh scent of soap from his body lingered in the air, making Kimmy even more tense.

“Lily…” Grayson’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Kimmy held her breath, still pretending to sleep.

Grayson leaned down, then his lips gently touched his wife’s forehead. “Maybe I should be more patient,” he murmured faintly. “I will not force you to love me.”

Kimmy felt the warmth of that kiss linger on her skin. Her body wanted to react, but she forced herself to stay still.

A few seconds later, Grayson rose. His footsteps moved away, then the sound of the door opening and closing followed.

Kimmy slowly opened her eyes. She stared blankly at the ceiling while her hand touched her own forehead. The warmth of that kiss still lingered, leaving her confused.

“Why do I… feel something?” she whispered.

She rolled to the side of the bed, hugging a pillow. Her heart was in turmoil.

“He can be harsh, frightening, but just now… he was so gentle.”

Kimmy took a deep breath, then stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “Do I really have to play the role of Kimberly completely? If I keep rejecting him, he’ll be suspicious. But… if I accept his feelings, won’t I be even more trapped?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. “If only this were just a drama… unfortunately it’s not. This is my life now.”

The next morning, sunlight pierced through the thin curtains. Kimmy was still in bed, though her mind was restless.

A knock on the door sounded. A maid entered with a tray of breakfast. “Madam, breakfast. Young Master has already left for the office.”

Kimmy nodded. “Thank you. Just put it on the table.”

The maid bowed politely and left.

Kimmy walked toward the table, gazing at the toast and a glass of warm milk. But her stomach felt nauseous, her mind still full of last night’s events.

“If I truly return Grayson’s feelings… what if he later finds out I’m not Kimberly?” she muttered.

She sat down, resting her chin on her hand. “If he finds out, he’ll surely hate me. And… I can’t imagine his anger.”

Kimmy bit her lower lip. The memory of Grayson’s gaze when angry made her body tremble. But on the other hand, the memory of the gentle kiss on her forehead also made her chest feel warm.

“Why do I have to be this confused?!” she groaned softly, covering her face with both hands.

***

It was almost eleven at night. At the Blackwood mansion, Kimmy was still sitting on the bed in simple pajamas. She had just closed the novel she had been half-heartedly reading.

“Grayson isn’t home yet,” she murmured softly, glancing at the wall clock.

But instead of feeling worried, Kimmy actually felt relieved. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about last night, when Grayson kissed her forehead. That moment had left her restless all day.

Meanwhile, in the city center, an elite nightclub pulsed with loud music and colorful lights.

Grayson sat on a VIP sofa, his tie undone, his shirt slightly open. Several beautiful women in tight dresses surrounded him, offering glass after glass of drinks.

“Young Master Blackwood, try this, the finest wine of the night,” one woman handed him a glass.

Grayson drank it without hesitation. His face was cold, but his eyes were heavy, clearly he had been drinking a lot.

Another woman leaned against his shoulder. “Why the gloomy face, hm? Let us entertain you tonight.”

Grayson didn’t answer. He just drank again and again. Kimberly’s face appeared in his mind—her smile, her fear, even her words of rejection.

Suddenly he slammed the glass onto the table. “Shut up! Don’t touch me!”

The women exchanged glances, some stepping back in fear. The atmosphere in the VIP room instantly grew tense.

Arthur, who had been watching from a distance, quickly approached. “Young Master, that’s enough. You’ve had too much.”

Grayson glared, pointing his finger at Arthur. “Shut up! Go away!”

Arthur took a breath, his face calm though his heart was worried. He knew Grayson rarely lost control like this.

Finally, Arthur stepped outside, pulled out his phone, and dialed the Young Madam’s number.

At the mansion, Kimmy’s phone rang on the table. She glanced at it briefly, seeing Arthur’s name on the screen.

“Arthur?” she muttered. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Madam,” Arthur’s voice was cautious. “Sorry to disturb you. This is about Young Master.”

Kimmy straightened up. “Why? Did something happen?”

Arthur drew a breath. “Young Master… is at a club right now. He has been drinking heavily. Surrounded by hostesses. I’m worried—”

“Then why are you calling me?” Kimmy cut him off coldly.

Arthur paused. “I thought, perhaps if Madam spoke to him… or came, he might calm down.”

Kimmy bit her lower lip. A mix of irritation and confusion stirred within her. But finally, she replied, “That’s not my business. If he wants to get drunk, let him. I won’t come.”

“But Madam…”

“Arthur,” Kimmy pressed her voice, “I don’t care. I just want to sleep. Good night.”

Click. The call ended.

Kimmy placed her phone back on the table, expressionless. She returned to bed, pulling the blanket over her face.

“He can do whatever he wants. That’s not my business,” she muttered. But deep inside, there was a faint uneasiness she tried to ignore.

At the club, Arthur reentered. He looked at Grayson, now slumped weakly on the sofa, still clutching a bottle. The women had already stepped away, not daring to come near again.

Arthur approached and bowed slightly. “Young Master, allow me to take you home.”

Grayson half-opened his eyes, staring blankly. His lips murmured faintly, “Kimberly… why do you always avoid me?”

Arthur fell silent. He knew, drunk or not, Grayson was thinking of only one person.

Carefully, he signaled two guards to assist. “Take Young Master to the car.”

That night, Grayson was finally brought home in a state of heavy drunkenness.

“Only Young Madam can make Young Master like this. She truly does not appreciate him,” Arthur muttered.