The last time Tiffany visited, she was turned away at the entrance. The servants suspected a conflict, as Richard had been unusually fickle and seemed burdened by a ruthless air throughout that period. However, at midnight yesterday, they saw him carry the intoxicated Tiffany inside, gently tending to her wounds and even requesting a change of clothes. He remained with her for a considerable time, ensuring her well-being before finally retiring to the guest room. The master bedroom was reserved for Tiffany, signifying Royal Bay's acceptance of Mrs. Hampton.

The servants, having watched Richard grow from a young master in the old manor to the esteemed Mr. Hampton over twenty years, were overjoyed. After dinner, at Tiffany's insistence, Richard agreed to let her leave. He summoned John, who, upon seeing Tiffany, smiled and nodded. "Mrs. Hampton, I'll escort you back."

Tiffany, realizing their tacit understanding of her as his wife, felt uncomfortable. "I'm not. Don't call me that," she corrected.

"Yes, Mrs. Hampton," John grinned, revealing a neat row of white teeth. Tiffany glared at Richard, but he found her expression endearing, like a playful kitten. Tempting thoughts filled his mind; he longed to keep her, but ultimately restrained himself.

Before Tiffany entered her car, Richard embraced her waist. She turned, embarrassed and angry. The servants discreetly dispersed; even John looked away. "Richard!!" Tiffany exclaimed.

He responded with a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Miss me, huh?" His voice, magnetic, low, and hoarse, was incredibly pleasant.

"I'm just going home," Tiffany retorted, amused and annoyed.

"You still owe me a love letter," Richard whispered.

"What? Is this something I promised when drunk?" Tiffany teased.

"No," he said, his gaze intense and his tone serious, even stubborn. "But I want it."

Tiffany sighed. "Don't you think wanting a love letter is childish? Do you know how old you are?"

"I don't care," he insisted, his dark pupils reflecting her face, filled with possessiveness. The memory of her writing numerous love letters to Kenneth in her youth fueled his jealousy.

Tiffany understood his obsession, touched by his feelings. She smiled brightly. "Okay."

On the way home, Tiffany laughed, her remaining hesitation dissolving. Her heart throbbed; she felt strongly for him, and it seemed he reciprocated. The letter, however, proved a challenge.

After Tiffany smiled for the fifth time, John, driving, finally spoke. At a red light, he boasted, "Mrs. Hampton, Mr. Hampton is easy to coax, right?"

Tiffany, remembering Richard's previous rejections—turning her away at the entrance and rudely dismissing her from his company—was taken aback. "What? You must be kidding!"

"Thanks for reminding me!" she said, her bright smile causing John to shiver. "Oh no, I'm in trouble!" he thought, regretting his gossip.

After dropping Tiffany off, John went to the training ground, wanting to avoid Richard. Garry, amused, asked, "What's wrong? Trouble?"

"Both," John replied, recounting the events. Garry suggested, "Get him a rope to climb into her bedroom to apologize. Problem solved!"

John, terrified, prepared the rope. Richard, busy with work, found John's arrival with a rope unsettling. "Is your head broken?" he asked.

John attempted to explain his plan, but Richard interrupted, "Get lost."

Richard, however, did not forget. Attempting to climb her window later, he found it locked, but a drawing adorned the sill. It depicted two childish figures—a girl throwing a tantrum, and a boy looking arrogant. Richard laughed; he found her anger adorable. He carefully removed and kept the drawing, his eyes filled with warmth. This, he thought, was his first love letter. The locked window was easily bypassed.