Chapter 37

Isslinger. She moved from his cheek to his neck, and then to his earlobe. Before he could reply, she took the lead and softly kissed his cheek, unbuttoning his shirt one by one as she continued kissing him.

Overwhelmed by her passion, he found himself falling onto the bed with her. Normally a man of discipline and restraint, not prone to excess in such affairs, he became a creature of instinctual desire when he felt her soft touch and inhaled her distinctive fragrance.

The recent days of emotional turmoil had left him raw, and now, the fervor of reclaiming something precious drove him to madness. He longed to have her by his side, to possess her for days without end.

During the brief period she had been missing after escaping from the lake, he had endured the most harrowing five days of his life.

From the moment the police had informed him of her supposed death, he rushed to the site of the car accident. He watched as her car was retrieved from the river, saw her phone inside, and pictured the grim image of her body sinking into the depths of the lake.

Haunted by the shadow of her passing, he had endured sleepless nights, canceled all business trips, and ignored the ever-growing pile of paperwork in his office. His appetite had vanished, and he was plagued by insomnia.

Her sudden absence from his life did not bring him the peace he had imagined. Instead, it left him with a profound sense of loneliness and emptiness.

He realized he missed even her negative traits—her selfishness, shamelessness, and greed for money. Every flaw she had replayed in his mind relentlessly.

Seeking comfort, he would visit her vacant apartment, where he fed her dog, smoked cigarette after cigarette, and collapsed into her bed when he became too tired. In his dreams, he saw her struggling helplessly in the water before sinking into the abyss.

But now, she was back. She had unexpectedly reappeared, standing before him, as vibrant and lively as ever. It was almost as if he were still dreaming.

After a few hours of fiery passion, the intensity began to ebb. He rested against the headboard, while she lay sprawled across him, her head nestled against his chest.

Their sweat-slicked bodies clung together, too tired to even think about showering. They simply lay there, breathing heavily, wrapped in the silence of the moment, their minds blissfully blank.

A few moments later, his phone chimed with a WhatsApp notification. He received a plethora of calls, texts, and messages each day, so he ignored it, keeping his hands behind his head and feigning sleep with his eyes shut.

At that moment, Giselle glanced at the phone screen. The sender’s profile picture was unmistakable. It was Anne.

Giselle hesitated for a moment. Then, without warning, she snatched his phone, grasped his large hand, and boldly pressed his thumb against the fingerprint to unlock it.

Navigating through WhatsApp, she found a message from Anne: “Don, tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. Will you come to my place for dinner tonight?” Giselle snorted decisively under her breath.

Feigning affection, she leaned into Donovan’s chest, activated the front camera, and captured several close-up selfies of the two of them lying together, shirtless.

Donovan, likely worn out from earlier activities, was drifting off to sleep. His eyes remained closed, and he seemed too groggy to notice Giselle’s actions with his phone.

After taking the pictures, she promptly sent the intimate images straight to Anne.