Chapter 1

“Want to go another round?” the man whispered, his voice a deep, sultry melody that wrapped around Cynthia Jones like velvet, tinged with unfulfilled desire.

Cynthia’s gaze fell to the floor, where the remnants of their passion lay scattered—her delicate lace lingerie tangled with his tailored suit, the torn fabric of her dress crumpled in disarray, and a pair of high heels positioned like forgotten tokens beneath the couch.

“No, I’m tired,” she murmured, feigning nonchalance. He had stamina; she had nearly cried out for mercy moments ago. Yet, her fingers, betraying her resolve, traced the solid contours of his abs, marveling at the warmth of his body.

He captured her hand, his voice a tantalizing mix of temptation and challenge. “Don’t tease me. I might lose control.”

Cynthia laughed, her enchanting face becoming more vibrant. Her luminous eyes sparkled, and her bold, crimson lips promised more than playful banter. Cascading blonde waves framed her sun-kissed skin, accentuating the beauty mark near her eye, lending her an almost ethereal allure.

The man stared at her intensely, consumed by an overwhelming urge to pounce on her again.

“Come on! If I can’t touch you anymore, I’ll miss it more than you know,” she teased, her infectious grin illuminating her face.

Instantly, the man froze. The room’s temperature plummeted as his expression hardened. “What do you mean?”

Cynthia tossed aside the thin blanket, rose, and swiftly dressed. She retrieved a check from her bag and approached him. “Honey, here’s five million dollars as compensation, and you can keep the villa.”

The check slipped into his palm like a quiet ultimatum. His response was a volatile mix of confusion and anger.

“Cynthia, are you trying to break up with me?” His voice dropped low, barely concealing his anger.

Cynthia remained composed, lifting his chin tenderly as she pressed a swift kiss to his lips. “My husband is back, so I can’t keep playing this game. Let’s call it quits.”

The man’s expression darkened, shadows flickering across his face—a mixture of hurt and rage.

“Sweetie, if you ever need anything, just call me,” Cynthia whispered, planting another soft kiss on his lips.

Then she turned, bag in hand, and left the room. A crash shattered the quiet behind her, but she didn’t look back. A resigned smile graced her lips.

She had kept him as a secret lover for three years. What had felt real was only a mirage—an illusion of affection that never held its ground. Still, she knew the suddenness of the breakup might be hard for him.

After leaving the villa, Cynthia drove to the airport. Filip Yates, her husband—who had spent the last three years overseas with another woman—was returning, succumbing to family pressure.

(The following dialogue seems out of place and should be integrated more smoothly into the narrative, perhaps earlier.)

“Cynthia, even though we’ve known each other forever and dated for two years, I don’t have any feelings for you.” “I only love Lilian. If it weren’t for my grandfather’s pressure, I wouldn’t have married you.” “I won’t touch you. That’s my promise to Lilian.” “The only thing I can give you is the title of Mrs. Yates. If you can’t stand being alone, feel free to find a boyfriend. I won’t interfere, and of course, you can’t interfere in my relationship with Lilian.”

She wore a loose white cotton dress and no makeup, but her naturally shy and innocent features made her look surprisingly sweet. She clung to Filip’s arm with one hand, the other protectively over her slightly rounded belly—a gesture hard to overlook.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk creeping onto her lips. “Are you pregnant, Lilian?”

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