Chapter 3

"Don't think you really are my uncle just because I call you that! Stay out of my business!" Rosalie clambered out of the bathtub with difficulty.

Something must've possessed her when she'd agreed to come to a hotel with Rowan, especially when she knew he'd never been nice to her.

"Are you going to leave looking like that?" His voice rang out behind her, an undercurrent of something unfathomable in it.

Just as she reached for the door, his words stopped her cold. Slowly, she glanced at herself.

She was drenched from her dip in the bathtub, and her dress wasn't made of thick material since it was summertime. It clung to her body uncomfortably, and even her nipple covers had moved out of position. A certain spot stood out in particular.

There was no way she could leave the hotel looking like that.

She tightened her grip on the doorknob and covered her chest with her free hand before pulling the door open. Instead of leaving, she chased Rowan out. "Get out. I'm going to spend the night here!"

He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. After lighting it, he said, "Come here and tell me what happened."

Rosalie was already in a bad mood because of what happened, yet Rowan just had to bring it up. She had no desire to pour her heart out, especially to him.

The thought of him reminded her of Ivory. She remembered how she'd helped Ivory give Rowan a love letter. They'd never been on the best of terms, yet she'd set her pride aside for Ivory's sake.

How had Ivory repaid her?

Rosalie grew angrier the more she thought about what had happened. The alcohol clouded her judgment, and she stared at Rowan, thinking about how Ivory had been desperately in love with him for four years.

Ivory had stolen her boyfriend. Could she get back at her by sleeping with Rowan?

It only took a second for a person to make a rash decision. The blood rushed to Rosalie's head, and she shut the door before approaching Rowan.

Her drenched dress clung to her curves, accentuating her figure. Rowan watched her, his gaze darkening with lust. He didn't shy away from her.

When she got closer, he got a better look at her body. His Adam's apple bobbed, but before he could say anything, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him with abandon.

It was an urgent, messy kiss that carried a hint of insanity and fear.

Rowan was caught off guard. He dropped his cigarette and froze in shock, his muscles tensing. Soon, he snapped to his senses and pried Rosalie off him. He pushed her aside and snapped, "Do you know what the hell you're doing?"

She'd been planning on giving herself to Simon that night, but he'd gotten together with Ivory. Rowan was the man Ivory loved, and he looked better than Simon. No matter how Rosalie looked at the situation, she wasn't losing out.

"Of course!" She broke free of his grip when he was distracted and threw herself at him again, kissing his lips and jaw with a dazed look. She said with grievance, "It's my birthday today, Rowan. Can't you be nicer to me?"

She softened her attitude and went from being a prickly hedgehog to a red-eyed rabbit.

Rowan caught her hands in one of his and gripped her jaw with the other. "What do you mean by being nicer to you?"

"I want you!"

Although he'd guessed the answer, he was still taken aback. He looked at Rosalie's face—her complexion was so flawless that he couldn't see her pores even when she was so close. Her eyes glistened, and her gaze was fragile and helpless. She made a pitiful sight.

Her lips were rosy, soft, and alluring. His gaze traveled downward over her slender neck. Beneath that…

He forced himself to look away. He knew very well certain things couldn't be done—he'd be getting himself into too much trouble if he were to cross the line, and he didn't like trouble.

"You're drunk," Rowan said. He suppressed his arousal and said hoarsely, "Go to bed. I'll be in the room next door; we can talk about this tomorrow morning."

He released Rosalie and turned to leave. That was when she cried, "I'll sleep with someone else if you don't want me!"

He froze, and his expression turned steely. "What did you say?"

"I said I want a man to fuck me! If you don't, I'll—"

Rowan grabbed the back of Rosalie's neck and silenced her with a searing kiss. It was rough and carried a hint of the desire he was trying to keep at bay.

She didn't feel good. When she tried to push him away, he grabbed her hands and easily locked her in his embrace. His arms and chest were hard as steel—she couldn't make him budge, no matter how hard she struggled or flailed.

Rowan had only kissed Rosalie because he was upset about her having no self-respect, but he soon became engrossed in it and allowed his lust and natural desires to take over.

When Rowan pinned Rosalie to the bed and hovered over her to take things further, she felt her head spin and her stomach turn. A wave of nausea crashed over her, and she ultimately lost control, heaving the contents of her guts out.

Rowan's expression turned hideous. He evidently hadn't expected things to take such a turn. His lust quickly disappeared.

He called the front desk and had them send a housekeeper up to clean up the mess.

…

The following day, Rosalie woke up with a hell of a hangover and a splitting headache.

Her mind was in a mess as she opened her eyes and stared at the unfamiliar room and ceiling. She pressed a hand to her head and slowly sat up in bed.

"You're awake." A deep and sexy yet icy voice rang out.

Rosalie was taken aback. Then, she froze. That voice…

She turned in the direction it had come from to see Rowan on a single-seater couch before the floor-to-ceiling windows. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and the tendrils of smoke blurred his icy face.

The memories of last night flashed through her mind like a kaleidoscope, and she suddenly realized how cold her bare shoulders felt.

Rosalie's gaze dropped, taking in the faint marks scattered across her otherwise flawless skin. They traced a path from her chest downward, disappearing beneath the sheets.

Only then did she realize she was naked.

She turned ashen and hastily pulled the sheets higher, cocooning herself in them. "What are you still doing here?"

Rowan stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Your clothes are in that bag. Hurry up and wash up. I'll wait for you outside."

With that, he strode out of the room.

Rosalie bit her lip and clutched the sheets tightly, only relaxing her hold on them when she was alone in the room.

She didn't seem to feel uncomfortable anywhere, and she didn't remember whether or not they'd actually gone all the way.

She lifted the sheets and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom to freshen up. As her reflection stared back at her, the marks scattered across her skin seemed to bloom like unwelcome reminders.

A deep sadness settled over her, heavy and unshakable; her tears fell unchecked.

She'd ultimately still regretted this.