Dressed in a black silk pajama set, Adam stood on the balcony, a cigarette nestled between his slender fingers. The swirling smoke obscured his expression, but his tightly furrowed brows hinted at inner turmoil. He smoked rapidly, ashes falling in angry clumps, scattering crimson sparks to the ground. He felt like he was losing his mind.

There was nothing wrong with the Terrestrial Suite. He'd instructed the resort villa manager to invent that excuse; he simply didn't want Celine and Nathan alone together. The thought of her with Nathan, of what they might be doing, filled him with images that spiraled his emotions out of control, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them.

In the dead of night, Adam became aware of the dark, forbidden thoughts he harbored for Celine. He couldn't let her go. He couldn't bear the thought of her with another man. He didn't love her; he was addicted to the pleasure she gave him. It was a game, and he hadn't had his fill. How could he possibly give her up?

Suddenly, someone hugged him from behind. "Adam, why are you smoking?"

It was Carly. She rarely saw him smoke.

Adam turned slowly, but remained silent. The bathroom door clicked open, and Celine emerged, fresh from her shower.

Nathan stepped forward. "Celine, are you done?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Her gaze fell on the balcony, where Carly hugged Adam. A cigarette still burned between his fingers; they appeared unusually intimate. After humiliating her earlier, he was back with Carly.

Celine averted her gaze. "I'll use the hairdryer."

She sat at the vanity, picked up the hairdryer, and began drying her damp, long hair.

Nathan approached. "Celine, let me help you."

Adam's eyes fell on her. Fresh from her shower, she wore a white nightgown with a lace-trimmed collar, looking innocent and delicate. Under the vanity light, her makeup-free face, small and fair as porcelain, radiated a soft, sweet charm. Nathan stood behind her, took the hairdryer, and began drying her hair.

Adam's gaze darkened as he watched Nathan's long fingers thread through Celine's black hair. She lifted her clear eyes and gave Nathan a bright, gentle smile. A sharp sting on his fingertip—the burning ember of his cigarette—made him wince. His expression turned grim as he extinguished the cigarette. Then, with a slight curl of his lip, he coldly asked, "Celine, don't you have hands of your own?"

She'd been about to refuse Nathan's offer, but paused. She looked up at Adam, meeting his icy gaze.

He sneered. "Can't you dry your own hair, or do you just like having men do it for you?"

Her face paled.

Nathan frowned. "Adam, what do you mean? I offered to help Celine. What's with the attitude?"

Adam, tall and imposing, ordered in his deep, magnetic voice, "You have hands. Use them and dry your own hair."

Celine reached for the hairdryer, but Nathan stopped her. He looked at Adam. "Adam, you're really asking for it. Are you itching for a fight?"