Chapter 270

The restaurant's fate hung in the balance; proper handling of the situation was crucial. The middle-aged man and three sisters turned pale. Their family was finished. They had poisoned the food.

The manager, having witnessed the scene, understood perfectly. His career was jeopardized by this incident occurring under his watch. Gritting his teeth, he ordered, "Take them to the police station!"

Joe brought Skylar back to the car. Paul, noticing their flushed faces, immediately understood.

"Mr. Martin, should we go to the hospital?" Paul asked.

Joe unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his chest, and replied in a deep voice, "Call Dr. Grey."

"Yes, sir."

As the driver called Howard, Skylar felt disoriented. The drug was potent; although Joe hadn't eaten much, its effects were stronger on men, leading to rapid loss of control.

Skylar whimpered, "When will we get home? This sucks."

"Soon. Just hold on, Skylar," Joe said, his voice low and restrained.

Skylar's eyes reddened. The familiar discomfort and memories of past helplessness made her bite her lip and cry silently. She desperately wanted to escape the unspeakable agony. Her mind battled reason and madness, but she clung to Joe as a lifeline.

Joe's body was tense; his eyes bloodshot, his breathing heavy. He struggled as much as Skylar. Her movements in his arms hinted at the possibility of succumbing to their desires together. However, seeing Skylar cry—not from physical pain, but deep sadness—a sharp pain tightened his chest. He gasped.

His voice hoarse, he urged Paul, "Drive faster."

"Yes, Mr. Martin."

Paul floored the accelerator. The Bugatti, driven expertly, sped down the road.

Half an hour later, they arrived at Galaxy Villa, both barely conscious of their surroundings. It was unclear who initiated it, but they kissed passionately. They might have gone upstairs had the doorbell not rung.

Entering and seeing Joe and Skylar entwined, Howard paused. He'd dealt with this before; this wasn't Joe's first experience with being drugged. Usually, a cold shower or IV was necessary, but neither fully counteracted the effects. Enduring the drug's influence was often the only option. Given the circumstances, why bother?

"Mr. Martin, you two are legally married. Just go upstairs and… you know," Howard advised helplessly.

He'd learned of Joe's marriage on his last visit to Galaxy Villa. However, he hadn't seemed pleased with his new wife, as they slept separately. He hadn't seen them in a while, but had just witnessed their kiss. Going to bed together seemed the easiest solution.

Joe's eyes burned with desire. He turned to Howard.

"Will it hurt her?"

"Medical intervention won't help much. You'll both have to endure it," Howard stated bluntly.

"Get out."

Howard winced, speechless. He wouldn't have stayed anyway.

The door closed, and Joe carried Skylar in his arms. His dark eyes were filled with desire.

"Do you want to endure this?"

Skylar, clinging to sanity, understood. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "No, I don't," she whispered, her voice weak but firm.

They were married. Barring unforeseen events, divorce was unlikely; children were a possibility. Sleeping with him wasn't a loss. She'd endured the drug's effects many times before her rebirth, always suppressing her desires.

Joe's lips found hers again. As they lay on the bed, Skylar fell into a daze. Joe, now shirtless, revealed a muscular physique. His deep gaze was fixed on her. His throat felt dry.

Skylar's heart pounded. In moments, his tall frame covered hers, and her clothes were gone before she realized it.

Joe couldn't resist kissing her again. Their lips and tongues entwined fiercely, and Skylar gradually relaxed.

Their intimacy lasted from dusk till dawn.

Sunlight streamed through the partially open window the next morning. Skylar woke feeling as though she'd been hit by a truck. The events of the night flooded back. She looked down; it wasn't a dream. She wasn't in her room, but in Joe's, her body marked from their passionate night. The room still held the heat of their passion.

Joe spoke, "I got you a day off. Sleep some more."

"A day off?" Her voice was hoarse. Then it hit her—it was Monday. She glanced at the clock.

"It's noon?"

Joe opened his eyes slightly. His gaze fell on her fair skin, partially covered by a blanket, revealing the marks he'd left. His breathing quickened.

"You probably don't have the energy to work today," he said, his voice deep.