Chapter 2

Vivian’s POV

As his thoughts rumbled in my mind, I closed my eyes, and the day of our wedding came rushing back.

Ethan hadn’t looked happy that day. But I was excited. I remembered standing at the far end of the red carpet, heart hammering, hands trembling as I hooked my Papa’s arm.

I had fallen in love with Ethan long before our marriage alliance—maybe even before Papa first mentioned the idea of us marrying.

So I was truly happy at the wedding. Who wouldn’t be? Marrying someone you love, taking his hands in yours…

And Ethan stood at the altar—the most striking man I had ever seen. The suit was ordinary enough, but on him, it radiated a power and presence no one else could carry. Yet his face… so cold, distant, and expressionless.

I understood. I felt a pang of sadness, but I knew—Ethan didn’t like me. To him, this marriage might have been just another strategic alliance benefiting both our families.

I even helped him, finding excuses for his coldness. “It’s alright, Vivian. Ethan will like you once he gets to know you. Once you two become a real family.”

So I tried—so many things, so many times. But Ethan was like an iceberg, impossible to melt.

I remembered that only a month ago, I had even made an appointment with our family lawyer to discuss divorce.

I loved Ethan—his looks, his dominance, his brilliance—but I couldn’t let myself stay in a loveless marriage a moment longer.

And yet… just now, I had heard it. The way Ethan craved me, the way he was utterly, madly in love with me. He didn’t see this marriage as hollow or fake. He was in it—just as deeply as I had always been.

But…why had he been so distant all this time? Why let me misunderstand his feelings for so long?

Shock quickly turned into anger and disbelief. If I hadn’t heard his thoughts tonight, how much longer would he have iced me out? Would he have finally revealed the truth only when I threatened divorce? Was this some cruel game—or did he truly not understand a woman’s heart?

I drifted slowly toward sleep, lost in the haze. Then, warm hands pulled me close. Ethan whispered soft and steady, “I love you so much, Vivian. Good night.”

…

The next morning, I woke to an empty side of the bed. Last night felt hazy. Ethan and I had gone through our anniversary routine sex… then what? I shook my head, that’s right, I heard Ethan’s inner thoughts.

It sounded wild—insane even—but sometimes reality could be stranger than imagination. I wondered if I could still hear him today.

Dragging myself into the bathroom, I started freshening up. The sooner I was done, the sooner I could get downstairs, join Ethan for breakfast, and test whether this mind-link would work again.

But when I caught my reflection in the mirror, my breath hitched. Love bites—his marks—spotted my neck and back.

Ethan had always been rough in bed, so different from the icy, distant man in real life. I used to think maybe that was some other version of him, unleashed only behind closed doors.

But what if it wasn’t? What if that was his true self?

If what I heard last night was real, Ethan had been craving me like a predator waiting for his prey. His thoughts—“Gosh, Vivian’s skin… so soft, I could melt into her. The way her leg curled around my waist… I could bury myself in her forever”—made me blush, even just imagining it.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was reassuring to know I wasn’t hated by my own husband, but I was still furious at him for keeping me in the dark. I needed him to confess—to say it out loud—before I reconsidered my plans for divorce.

I chose a simple black dress, tight and barely reaching my thighs. Before marriage, this had been my usual style. After Ethan, I’d toned it down—one sharp frown from him had made me self-conscious. I wanted to please him, even if I hated admitting it.

But today… holding onto the faint hope of hearing his thoughts again, I dared to think I might finally catch a glimpse of what he truly felt for me or this little short black dress.

I walked slowly down the stairs. The dining area was half-open to the staircase, and Ethan had a habit of sitting at the head. I made sure to walk where he could see me.

Sure enough, the click of my heels caught his attention. Ethan turned, his eyes tracing my dress, then my face. There it was again—those furrowed eyebrows.

And then, in my head, his voice spoke: “Hold it together, Ethan. Don’t freak out. She’s always this sexy. Little Ethan, don’t get hard now.”

I had to suppress a smile. How could the inner-thought Ethan be so adorable?

The thoughts continued, frantic and adorable: “But I don’t want other men seeing her like this! She’s mine! Mine alone! Should I tell her to maybe change it? But she looks so good… I wouldn’t want to give her the wrong signals.”

“But would I want others to see her this sexy? The thighs… those legs… stop it, Ethan! Don’t imagine tearing her dress apart in broad daylight! Don’t be a pervert, Ethan!”

I reached the table and sat down. In reality, Ethan didn’t say a word—just gave me a frown before returning to his breakfast. But his inner voice kept running, wild and chaotic.

I studied him closely. Now that I could hear his thoughts, he seemed… different. Softer, warmer, even approachable. Handsome as always, but somehow cuter, more human. I found myself getting lost in him again.

I pulled myself back to reality, only to find Ethan staring. “Something wrong?”

His mind screamed: “Did my hair fall apart? Is there bread on my face? Why is Vivian staring at me? My gosh… she’s so attractive just looking at me. I really want to kiss her. Right—the morning kiss. She always expects one before I leave for work. I’ll just wait… then kiss her.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I swallowed hard. Ethan sounded like he was trying desperately to contain his excitement over a simple morning kiss.

The morning kiss… It had started as a little ritual when Ethan and I first married. He was so distant, and I thought a small trick could help close the gap between us. Every morning before he left for work, I would fix his tie, and we’d kiss.

Before hearing this thoughts, I used to think I had forced this ritual on him. Every kiss was just a light brush of lips before he turned away.

I was sad for a while, but I convinced myself: if he didn’t like me, at least this tiny ritual was his gift to me.

Now, thinking back, perhaps Ethan had been longing for those kisses just as much as I did—he just never showed it.