Chapter 274
Jonathan immediately carried Cynthia to his usual private room at the Dark Horse Club. Initially, it was utter chaos. Cynthia, nearly unconscious upon entering, immediately jumped onto him, pinning him to the bed with surprising strength. He struggled, but unable to break free, resigned himself to her nibbling.
She kissed poorly, and he, a neat freak who disliked contact with strangers, found himself surprisingly unconcerned. Her scent—a heady mix of alcohol and floral notes—intoxicated him; he felt enveloped in a rose garden. Despite her clumsy movements and inept kissing, he was captivated.
This surge of excitement was unprecedented in over twenty years. He'd often thought of the little girl he once knew, but never anticipated a romantic spark. After all, they were children when they first met.
Over the years, Cynthia had been his faith, salvation, and reason for living. He longed to find her, but never considered the possibility of love. She remained, in his mind, a child.
Yet, gazing into her beautiful eyes—even the small mole at the corner captivating—her rosy lips seemed like forbidden fruit. His heart pounded; a burning sensation coursed through him.
He watched himself become enthralled, unsure if it was love at first sight or irresistible fascination. But in that moment, he knew his fate was intertwined with Cynthia's.
Cynthia kissed him again, this time directly on the lips, her tongue playfully exploring his mouth. Jonathan's composure shattered; he took the lead.
After a while, Cynthia seemed uncomfortable. Jonathan nearly lost control, then she murmured, "Filip…"
The name jolted him. Filip? Her husband? Was he the reason for her inebriation? Did she love him? Questions flooded his mind. Cynthia snuggled close, and eventually, he regained his senses.
He called a doctor friend, who suggested sex as a cure for her condition. Angered, he learned that waiting it out was an alternative, as the drug's effects were temporary.
He carried her to the bathroom and drenched her with cold water. They were both soaked, but within half an hour, the drug's effects wore off. Cynthia remained tipsy. He carried her to bed, undressing her while keeping his eyes closed.
He was sober now, deeply regretting his behavior. Cynthia was not, but he was. He never imagined losing control like that.
Nothing happened that night. However, upon waking to find herself undressed and him beside her, Cynthia misunderstood. She sat up, then pinched his chin, saying, "You're really handsome. How about letting me keep you?"
Jonathan realized her misconception—she thought he was a male model from the club, and they'd had sex. He played along. "Honey, keeping me isn't cheap."
Thus began their relationship. He couldn't be with her as Jonathan, due to the danger and unwanted attention it would attract. But he couldn't wait to be near her, to connect. He adopted the persona of a "Pretty Boy"—the quickest route. He didn't anticipate this arrangement lasting three years.
Shirley said, "Jonathan, did you see this? Cynthia slept with a club prostitute three years ago. She's immoral, unworthy of being your wife."
Seeing Jonathan's anger, Shirley stirred the pot, thinking, Cynthia, didn't expect this, did you? Your downfall!
Jonathan threw the phone at Shirley. "Shirley, are you blind? The prostitute is me!"
Shirley was stunned. Jonathan? Impossible! Others picked up the phone. The photos showed a tall man in an enticing uniform, but his face was unclear. A few showed his profile, but none offered clear identification.
After her surprise, Shirley laughed. "Jonathan, you're covering for Cynthia because of the embarrassment, right? This man's in a Dark Horse Club model's uniform! How could it be you? What's so good about Cynthia? Even as a leftover, you won't dump her?"
Jonathan said coldly, "Shirley, insult my wife again, and you'll pay."
Her dignity already gone, Shirley, with nothing to lose, aimed to bring Cynthia down.
"You have to prove you're the man in the photo. Without evidence, you're just covering up Cynthia's scandal."
Jonathan sneered, pointing to a blue earring. "This is the evidence."
He always wore a blue gemstone earring. Small and subtle, it was unique, worn for years without removal.
Someone found a photo. "It's Mr. Bennet! It really is!" The photo showed his profile while carrying Cynthia; his face was unclear, but the blue earring was prominent.