Chapter 6: A Close Fling

Margaret giggled, her full lips curling into a smirk. She leaned back against the desk, arms folded beneath her chest. "She’s such a disappointment," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "I wonder how you must feel having her around you."

The words had barely left her mouth before Ethan was on her, his grip like a vice as he yanked her forward. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arm, forcing her to meet his darkened gaze.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?" His voice was low, seething. "Are you trying to get me divorced?"

Margaret arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Oh, please. You didn’t stop me back then. Why start now?"

She ripped her arm from his grasp, the movement causing her breasts to rise and fall. She moved over to the side of the mahogany desk at the center of his office, reaching for the crystal decanter and a glass cup. The deep red wine pouring into the glass, rich and dark.

"Besides," she continued, swirling the liquid in slow, deliberate motions, "why are you even married to her? You still haven’t told me. She’s such a weak, ugly thing." Her nose scrunched in distaste. "Was it pity? Because it sure as hell wasn’t for money. Look at her—her shoes alone couldn’t even feed my cats."

She took a deep sip, her lashes fluttering. "What does she have that I don’t?"

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in her expression. A crack in her carefully constructed facade. Pain. It was barely there before she buried it beneath a smirk, drowning it with another sip of wine.

Ethan’s expression remained unreadable. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he answered.

"She has a womb. Something you don’t have anymore. I need an heir."

Silence settled between them.

Margaret should have felt something—anger, heartbreak, regret. But all she felt was nothingness. A dull, aching void where emotions should have been. Of course, she had lost her womb because of him, countless abortions leaving her body incapable of carrying life.

And yet, she had stayed. Whether it was his wealth, his touch, maybe both, she never left his side.

To Ethan, that was more pathetic than loyalty.

Margaret smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Oh, so it’s an heir keeping you chained to her. I was beginning to think she treated you better than I do."

As she lifted the glass to her lips, her grip slipped, Intentionally. The dark wine spilled down her chest, seeping through her breasts.

Ethan’s gaze darkened.

"You think she can treat me better than you?" His voice had dropped, thick with something primal.

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, the way a predator approached its prey. Margaret didn’t flinch—she welcomed it.

"You think I’d give this up?" he murmured, his large hands closing over her breasts, squeezing, possessive.

Margaret gasped with pleasure, her body arching into his touch. "I believe I’ll have to remind you."

Without hesitation, she tossed the empty glass behind her, the sound of shattering crystal barely registering as she grabbed Ethan’s collar and yanked him forward.

His lips crashed against hers—rough, demanding, devoid of affection. Just raw, unfiltered lust.

Ethan worked with practiced ease, his fingers undoing the lace of her bra, slipping the delicate fabric from her body. The moment her bra hit the floor, his mouth was on her breasts, biting, licking, sucking—claiming.

Margaret moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair, tugging hard. His low growl vibrated against her skin, sending a thrill down her spine. She rolled her hips against him, feeling his arousal press against her core.

Her hands moved lower, nails grazing over his sculpted chest before reaching his belt. She was just about to unbuckle it when—

A knock at the door.

Ethan tensed. Margaret let out a frustrated groan.

"If it’s that bitch of yours, I swear I’m going to—"

"Who is it?" Ethan interrupted, his voice sharp.

"It’s… Samantha, sir," came a hesitant reply.

Ethan clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply before tapping Margaret’s thigh—a silent command. She huffed but obeyed, reluctantly untangling herself from him.

With precise steps, Ethan walked to the couch in his office and sat, his chest rising and falling as he willed himself to regain control. He made no effort to retrieve his shirt, his annoyance palpable.

Margaret, still annoyed, buttoned her blouse halfway before leaning against the desk once more.

"Come in," Ethan finally called.

The door creaked open, revealing Samantha. The young secretary hesitated at the entrance, her gaze darting nervously between Ethan’s half-dressed state and the shattered glass on the floor.

"S-sir, I just wanted to inform you that our sponsors have arrived. They’re waiting for you in the conference room."

"And you couldn’t call to inform me?" Ethan spat with annoyance.qq

"I tried, sir," she stammered. "But your line wasn’t going through."

Ethan’s gaze flicked to the overturned telephone on his desk.

Margaret let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained by the exchange.

Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples. "You may leave. I’ll be there in five minutes."

Samantha nodded hastily, muttering a quick "Alright, sir," before practically bolting from the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Margaret rolled her eyes. "Stupid little cunt," she muttered under her breath.

With slow, deliberate steps, she made her way back to Ethan. Her shirt was still only half-buttoned, revealing glimpses of smooth skin beneath. She straddled him again, her lips ghosting over his jawline.

But this time, Ethan didn’t respond.

She guided his hands back to her hips, encouraging him to hold her. He remained still.

After a moment, he grasped her wrists, pulling them away from his face. His expression was unreadable as he pushed her off his lap.

"I have work to do," he said simply, standing. "Get dressed and be gone before I return. It’s going to be a long meeting."

Margaret pouted, tilting her head. "As you say, boss. Or should I say… Daddy?"

Ethan smirked but didn’t entertain her any further. With a quick adjustment to his tie, he straightened his suit and strode toward the door.

He left without another glance.

A second later, Margaret’s phone pinged. She picked it up, glancing at the screen.

A credit alert. A hefty sum.

She scoffed. Less than usual.

Little by little, he was pulling away.

But Margaret wasn’t one to be discarded so easily.