Chapter 6

Aaron straightened up, slowly wiping the streak of blood from his lip with his finger. His face was devoid of desire now, gone was the thunderous rage. Only an icy gaze remained, sharp as a scalpel, meticulously dissecting every layer of emotion on her face.

“Is the show over?”

Zoe flinched slightly, her delicate brows knitting together. This reaction was entirely unexpected. She thought he would humiliate her, or at least lose his temper and lash out. But no, his extreme calm unnerved her.

“Are you that cheap? Using your own life just to put on a childish act?” Aaron’s words cut through the air, devoid of warmth.

Zoe pressed her lips together, her head bowed in silence. This detective was indeed tougher than any man she had ever encountered.

Seeing her silence, Aaron didn’t bother to press further. He glanced at her body, writhing in pain, and an unsettling discomfort swelled in his chest. He knew he had to leave, not allowing himself to sink deeper. He had ideals, honor, and an arranged marriage ahead of him; he couldn’t let this girl ruin everything.

He turned, walking away decisively.

“Wait...” Zoe’s voice was a frail whisper, thin as a spider’s web clinging to the hem of his jacket.

Aaron didn’t turn around, stopping abruptly in the middle of the room. His voice was cold, almost devoid of emotion: “What other tricks do you have?”

“The medicine...” Zoe gasped, each word laced with agony: “In the drawer... of the vanity... the white bottle... save me... please...”

“Go get it yourself. You’re so good at acting; I’m sure you can manage a few steps.”

“I can’t... move... You’re a cop... you can’t just watch me die... can you? If I die here... do you think you’ll be safe? Your future fiancée’s niece... dying in her room... if this gets out...”

She was threatening him. Using her own precarious life to back him into a corner.

Aaron clenched his fist so tightly he could hear his knuckles crack. He detested being manipulated, especially by a girl barely out of her teens. But she was right. The law and public opinion wouldn’t spare him if something happened here.

He gritted his teeth, annoyed, and turned back. He strode to the vanity, yanking open the drawer. Inside, sure enough, was a small white bottle with no label, only a few strange characters. He snatched the bottle and tossed it onto the bed beside her.

Zoe looked at the bottle, cold sweat trickling down her temples. She was too weak to even lift her arm to open the cap.

“You... I can’t drink it... please give it to me... please... I’m really dying...”

Aaron clicked his tongue impatiently. He cursed himself for getting tangled in this mess. He picked up the bottle again, twisted the cap open forcefully, and curtly asked, “How many pills?”

“Two...”

Aaron poured two small white pills into the palm of his hand. He stepped closer, gently pinching her chin, forcing her mouth open. His actions were rough, devoid of any tenderness.

“Open up!”

Zoe obediently complied, but her eyes never left his face, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see through to the man’s very soul.

Aaron was distracted by her stare. He had never done anything so intimately caring for anyone. The sensation of skin touching in the confined space felt strange and suffocating.

As he reached to put the pills into her mouth, his fingertip accidentally brushed her soft, burning, alluring lips. A jolt of electricity shot down his spine. Just as he was about to pull his hand back as if burned...

Zoe unexpectedly clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t just take the two pills; she bit down tightly on his finger.

Her soft, wet, burning tongue gently grazed, licking inch by inch around his fingertip, slowly and provocatively.

It was a deliberate act, brimming with sensual undertones and possessiveness, instantly solidifying the air in the room into extreme tension.

Aaron jolted, a current of searing electricity streaking through his brain, but the seasoned criminal detective’s instincts kept his face perfectly impassive. He stared deep into her eyes, filled with vulgar provocation, then decisively yanked his finger from the hot, moist cavity, sliding past the deliberately lingering soft tongue.

He straightened up, taking a long step back as if recoiling from a dangerous contagion. His cold gaze fell, and he slowly pulled a white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, meticulously and elegantly wiping each crevice of his finger where she had touched it. Every movement exuded utter disdain, as if he had accidentally brushed against the most filthy refuse in the world.

This wordless, profoundly insulting act made the triumphant smile that had just begun to bloom on Zoe’s lips freeze. She felt the extreme contempt radiating from this man, colder than the floor she had just lain on.

However, the medicine was beginning to take effect. The cramping pain gradually subsided, returning a measure of breath and clarity to her. Zoe slowly pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed, her messy hair cascading over half her pale face, yet her eyes shone with an unnatural intensity.

“You know, your finger... it tasted really sweet.” She licked her lips faintly, her voice hoarse but laced with suggestive undertones.

“I am not your anything, don’t use that dirty mouth to call me that.” Aaron coldly tossed the used handkerchief into the waste bin in the corner of the room, not sparing her a second glance: “That term, besides proving you’re uneducated and cheap, means absolutely nothing to me. Don’t think a few petty tricks will faze me.”

Far from being angered by his scathing remarks, Zoe let out a soft laugh. Her laughter was clear yet subtly eerie, echoing in the dim room, causing Aaron to involuntarily narrow his eyes.

“Why ‘petty tricks’? Isn’t it just a few more days until our families officially meet to discuss your engagement to my aunt?” She tilted her head, strands of silky black hair sliding over her slender, porcelain-white shoulder: “It’s only a matter of time. And besides...”

She paused, deliberately licking her slightly swollen, reddened lips from the earlier bite, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous spark: “...Calling you that makes it more exciting, doesn’t it... dear uncle? The thrill of a secret affair with your soon-to-be fiancée’s niece—isn’t that fascinating?”

Zoe knew she was playing with fire with this gamble, but she had no retreat. She had to win, even if it meant tearing apart her own pride or paying any price.