Chapter 400
"I am your child's mother."
Nora froze. Damien, standing by the bright French window, tossed a document onto the nightstand without looking at her. "Look at this. If there's no problem, sign it."
The large words "divorce agreement" leaped out at Nora. Damien was really divorcing her! Her hands and feet went cold. She'd tried everything—bathing with rose-scented soap, hoping to reconcile with him. He hadn't been with a woman in years, but she refused to believe he lacked desire. She longed for intimacy, but Damien remained distant. She looked up at his handsome, aloof face. His every movement held an aura of untouchable detachment, pristine and remote. Everyone knew his disinterest in women; no woman, they said, could measure up, her desires deemed unclean in his eyes.
"Damien, I won't sign. I don't want a divorce," Nora stated firmly.
His gaze fell upon her. "I didn't think further explanation was necessary. This is a notice, not a negotiation." He gestured towards the agreement. "Sign it, or the provisions will be revoked. Are you sure?"
Nora met his cold, indifferent gaze—a gaze that saw right through her. Perhaps he didn't intend to mock her; it was hardly necessary. Yet, she felt utterly exposed, ridiculed. The family she'd so carefully—with Mr. Paulo's help—married into that year, the Roberts, had risen to become one of Imperial's four great families, just as they'd planned.
Nora clenched her fists. Damien was an iceberg, and between them flowed a vast, impassable river. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bridge the chasm.
"Damien, why have you treated me this way all these years? Knowing this, why did you marry me then? Was it because of that night? Will you never forget that night?"
The question hung in the air. Damien was silent for a moment. He hadn't forgotten. The memory of that night remained vivid. He'd drunk alcohol laced with drugs, quickly realizing something was amiss. Instead of returning to his room, he went to another in the Robert family's six-star hotel—a privilege afforded him as the family's head. He called his secretary, who dispatched an antidote. After taking it and resting, the effects subsided, and he fell into a deep sleep.
He awoke to the presence of someone in the room—an intruder. In the dim light of that moonless night, a daring girl sat astride his waist. He couldn't see her face clearly, but her silhouette was striking—a slender, graceful form with the curves of a young woman, delicate as porcelain. She was simply sitting on him. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound. He, Damien, was tied to the bed by this audacious girl.
"Who are you?" he asked coldly.
"I am… the mother of your child," she replied, her voice charming, her smile like silver bells.
"What do you want?"
She leaned closer, her clear eyes sparkling. "I told you. I'm the mother of your child. So… I want to have a baby with you."
Damien, heir to a wealthy, refined family, had been pursued by countless women, yet felt no natural attraction. These women, however, were all ladies of refinement. Never had he encountered someone so bold, so brazen.
She leaned closer, whispering, "Do you prefer a boy or a girl? Forget it; it doesn't matter. I want a baby girl."
He hated her audacity, yet her body was fragrant and soft. He couldn't see her face, but her eyes were captivating, her voice like chimes. He suspected the antidote had been ineffective, for he felt the familiar dryness return, even more intense than before. Worried, he gritted his teeth. "Witch!" he cursed.
"Why the swearing? You're aroused, aren't you? I know you have a thing for witches. A man with the world's most perfect genes, and you have such… unusual tastes—a fondness for being tied up?" She reached for his belt.
Damien saw something else in her hand—a high-tech needle of unknown purpose. With a sudden twist, he broke free, grabbing her wrist.
"You!" she cried out.
He pulled her into his chest. She stumbled, dropping the needle, her lips meeting his. He froze. He'd never kissed a woman before. His fastidious nature considered it unhygienic.