Chapter 1

Vivian’s POV

I had always believed my arranged husband didn’t care for me. He treated our nights together as nothing more than routine, distant in every other way. But tonight, as he turned his back after we finished, a voice—raw and desperate—shouted in my head, craving another round.

Ethan pressed me against his chest the moment we stepped into the bedroom. His touch ignited fire across my skin. His lips were soft yet insistent, sucking and teasing mine, pulling me into a heat I couldn’t resist.

My hands reached out for support, but all I found were Ethan’s hard, sculpted muscles and strong arms. Even through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel his body warming, his desire rising—and mine along with it.

I wore a simple slip dress, yet I felt consumed, as if my entire body was melting, searching for a touch to soothe the longing that had built inside me.

Today was our anniversary—a rare day when my cold, distant husband actually showed interest in me.

I tried not to let myself get carried away. Being close to him shouldn’t make me this excited. Yet it was rare to feel this near him, rare to see this passionate, hot side of him.

Before I realized, Ethan tore my dress away, lifted me, and laid me on the bed. His lips found my secret spot.

A broken moan escaped before I even realized it.

My thighs spread wider instinctively, framing his head as he went even deeper, sending shocks of pleasure through me.

How could a man so cold in the normal days be so overwhelmingly passionate now?

His hand cupped my one breast, nibbling until it hardened, while his lips followed in a slow, teasing rhythm on the other one.

Soon, he returned between my thighs, alternating between gentle laps and firm suckling, each touch making heat coil tighter in my belly until I trembled, sobbing from the intensity.

After what it felt like forever, Ethan lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes dark with desire. His body was hard, broad, and magnetic—overwhelming in its rawness.

He ripped off his shirt, then his pants, revealing himself fully—hard, ready, the tip already glistening. His hands gripped my thighs, guiding them around his waist, drawing me closer.

He lined himself up, pressing his cock against me. And then, with one swift stroke, Ethan thrust in.

I could barely breathe. Three years of marriage, countless nights together, yet this side of him still made me feel shy, unfamiliar, utterly exposed. This wasn’t the usual Ethan—it was fiercer, hotter, consuming.

I cupped his cheek, tilting his head to mine, and kissed him.

He moved relentlessly, each thrust rattling the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. My nails dug into his back, leaving marks, as my body shivered under him.

I tried to stifle my moans, but the way he knew me—knew exactly how to push me to the edge—made it impossible. Less than a minute, and he found that spot inside me. Fireworks exploded in my mind, my body convulsing as if it had shattered completely.

Ethan didn’t slow. His growl vibrated in my ear as he drove faster, harder, chasing his own release. After I climaxed again, he followed, his hips stuttering before he collapsed beside me.

For a moment, only our ragged breaths filled the room—uneven, frantic, yet strangely in sync.

Then Ethan turned his back to me. His usual post-sex ritual—turning away as if he couldn’t bear another second of closeness—returned.

I should have been used to it, but a small part of me still felt that familiar sting of disappointment.

The cold, distant husband was back.

Then, suddenly, a voice exploded in my mind. It was his—Ethan’s voice—even though I was almost certain he wasn’t speaking.

“Did I do good? Did I make Vivian come? She came, right? She hit her climax, I could hear it from her moans.”

“But why is she so quiet tonight? Should I turn and check if she’s asleep? Wouldn’t want her catching a cold if she’s still undressed.”

I blinked, still unsure if I was imagining it. Then, in the next second, Ethan turned.

Our eyes met, halfway across the bed. He barely lifted his gaze. “Still awake?”

“Huh…” My mind was scrambled; words refused to form.

“Go sleep.” He rolled back onto his side.

I swallowed, waiting for that familiar voice to pierce my thoughts. And sure enough, a second later, it did.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You asked if she’s awake but didn’t ask for a second round? Stupid Ethan… maybe she’s still up because you didn’t satisfy her!”

My heart skipped a beat.

Before this, I might have still convinced myself it was all a dream. But now? There was no denying it—I was hearing Ethan Solas’s inner thoughts.

The contrast was maddening. Cold, composed Ethan in front of me, and in my head, his voice was shouting how badly he wanted me.

“Ethan,” I whispered before I even realized.

All I got back was steady breathing. I thought he was asleep.

A beat later, he hummed, “What?”

“Nothing.” I turned onto my side, trying to process what I had just heard.

And then the usual stream of thoughts hit again:

“Good job, Ethan! Don’t be clingy or needy. A little distance is sophisticated—shows you’re a mature man.”

“But… can I just give her a goodnight kiss?"

“No, Ethan! Haven’t you forgotten? Vivian likes a mysterious, independent man. If you kiss her now, you’ll freak her out—and she’ll run. You’ll never find a wife like her again!”

I frowned. Since when did I care about a mysterious, independent man? And why did Ethan think cold and distant was his ticket to that image?