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Chapter 35 - 35- I have no one in my heart!
Without saying anything, Cynthia walked into the bathroom, clutching the shirt. In the steamy mist, she scrubbed her body vigorously under the intense flow of water. Fate can be quite humorous at times, turning lovers into strangers overnight, while making those who don't love each other willingly become husband and wife, even intertwining their bodies in a close embrace.
She found it hard to distinguish what was more important: protecting her heart or her body? Why couldn't fate be a little kinder to her, allowing her to give both her heart and body to the one she truly wanted?
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found him leaning against the headboard, reading a book. His strong torso was bare, proudly displaying his athletic physique. The only light in the bedroom was from a bedside lamp, casting a warm, dim glow on his face, and she felt her heart race for a moment.
She rushed over and turned off the lamp, then hurried to her side of the bed, exclaiming, "Stop looking; I'm going to sleep now!"
With that, she burrowed under the blanket.
Albert Wilson watched her glide past him in his oversized T-shirt, and the fragrance unique to women instantly filled his nostrils. Although she was using his men's body wash, he could still detect a different scent. A wave of heat surged through him...
"Cynthia—"
He called her name in a rough voice. What he wanted to ask was whether it was time to fulfill their marital duties. Although they had agreed to be a nominal couple, ever since he had tasted her, he often found himself thinking about that aspect whenever he saw her.
After all, her scent was so delightful and enchanting. Moreover, she was the one who had initially seduced him; if it weren't for her voluntary surrender that time, how would he have known her taste was so exquisite? After the first time, there came the second night of passion, and then there would be endless desires thereafter...
Cynthia, of course, could hear the implications in his words. Although she felt anger rising in her, she pretended not to hear and walked over to her side of the bed, lying down and wrapping herself tightly in the blanket, turning her back to him and pressing closely against the edge of the bed.
Seeing her ignore him, Albert Wilson could only lie down in disappointment. The large bed had plenty of space, yet she cautiously stayed on one side while he sprawled arrogantly across the center.
The air fell silent for a moment, filled only with their soft breathing. Cynthia, already fatigued from her daily tasks, soon relaxed her guard and drifted off to sleep, noticing that he hadn't made any move for a while.
Just as she was in a half-dreaming state, a hot hand suddenly covered her slender waist, instantly dispelling her drowsiness. She pinched the intrusive hand hard and coldly said, "Mr. Wilson, please have some self-respect!"
She heard him let out a pained groan behind her, but the grip didn't loosen; instead, it tightened around her, almost pulling her toward him. His displeased voice soon followed in her ear, "Let me hold you for a moment!"
As if fearing she would struggle again, he quickly pressed his body against hers and embraced her tightly from behind, burying his face in her hair. His voice held a hint of vulnerability and helplessness as he said, "I'm used to sleeping while holding something!"
When a man doesn't love a woman, he can often make her feel dizzy and infatuated, believing he is exceptionally MANly, charming, romantic, domineering, cool, and in control of everything.
Women are drawn to and even admire such men because they feel a sense of being delicate and dependent. But in reality, when a man truly falls in love, he turns into a boy. When you think that man is particularly dazzling, I'm sorry, but he hasn't fallen in love with you yet.
So at this moment, when he shows her his childish stubbornness, is it a sign that he has begun to love her a little?
Cynthia admitted that his childish behavior softened her heart for a fleeting moment, but the next second, she regained her composure and rationality, stiffening her body and coldly mocking him, "Do you need to hold a woman every night to fall asleep?"
Indeed, the arms wrapped around her loosened slightly. In the darkness, Albert Wilson was nearly infuriated by her. Did she really think he was that fickle? He had said he needed to hold something, not necessarily a woman!
He was someone who lacked a deep sense of security, especially when sleeping; he needed to have something in his arms to fill that emptiness and dispel feelings of confusion and helplessness, allowing him to fall asleep peacefully—even if he appeared tough and shrewd to others without a hint of weakness.
With a forceful sweep of his hand, he roughly turned her to face him, hooking his long legs around her body, comfortably leaning against her as he prepared to sleep. He admitted that her soft and fragrant body triggered a reaction in him.
This time, she surprisingly didn't resist and let him handle her. After a while, her clear voice suddenly broke the silence of the night, softly calling his name, making his heart tremble inexplicably.
"Albert Wilson!"
"Hmm?"
He lazily responded.
She quietly nestled in his arms, her small face pressed against his lean chest. This position seemed incredibly warm and romantic, but her next words were exceptionally cold, instantly freezing the warmth into an icy chamber.
"That woman who called tonight must be the one you hold in your heart, right?"
He slightly stiffened, and she continued to speak calmly and submissively,
"When you're doing those intimate things with other women, have you ever considered her feelings? When you're with someone you don't love, doesn't your heart feel a twinge of rejection, discomfort, or unwillingness?"
His calm was once again slowly torn apart by her nonchalant words. He wondered how she could suddenly retract her claws and be so gentle; sometimes, being meek and obedient was more terrifying than her overt confrontation.
He threw back the covers, got out of bed, and turned on the light. Her eyes shut tightly at the sudden brightness, and what met his gaze was her delicate, quiet, and fair little face, about the size of a palm. He squinted and pressed her,
"Are you saying that every time you're with me, you're thinking about that man and feeling very unwilling?"
"I didn't say that!"
She opened her eyes to look at him, her gaze calm and serene.
He couldn't help but roar,
"Don't you have that Vincent in your heart?"
She scoffed at him for having feelings for someone else while being intimate with other women. How could she criticize him? Didn't she have someone in her heart too? Then why did she still offer herself to him?
"I don't!"
She argued loudly, stubbornly meeting his gaze, each word like a declaration meant for both him and herself,
"I have no one in my heart! Just myself!"
The two of them stared coldly at each other, and in that moment, he couldn't see her thoughts, and she couldn't decipher the emotions in his eyes.
After a while, he snorted coldly,
"Don't think that just because you've been abandoned once, you can come running to me to talk about love. Who I love and who I'm with is my business; what right do you have to judge me?"
Her little face turned pale, as white as a sheet, and the word "abandon" pierced her heart like a sharp knife. Her frail body shook uncontrollably for a moment, nearly unable to withstand the piercing pain.
Clutching the blanket in her small hands, she lowered her gaze and no longer looked at him. Her tone returned to the unfamiliarity they had when they first met,
"Mr. Wilson, I'm not your pillow, sorry!"
She grabbed the pillow and blanket, attempting to get off the bed. He caught her by the arm and asked, confused,
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sleeping on the floor tonight!"
She broke free from his grip, politely and courteously saying,
"I'm going to sleep now! Good night!"
Then she lay down on the carpet, wrapping herself tightly in the thin blanket. Turning her back, tears finally fell from the corners of her eyes, landing on the pillow beneath her head, sinking in without a trace.
The pain of being abandoned was a burden she could not bear in her life: her mother's abandonment during childhood, followed by the abandonment of William S. Lancaster, then Vincent's abandonment, and the loss of every life in the orphanage that she could not save...
Albert Wilson watched helplessly as she slept below, at a loss for words. He knew that his earlier harsh words had indeed provoked her, and he wanted to apologize but didn't know how to start. 𝚗ovp𝚞b.𝚌om
So, he awkwardly lay down, feeling uncomfortable, tossing and turning on the vast bed, unable to sleep at all.
Meanwhile, Cynthia, listening to the sounds of him turning over above, couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Before long, she fell into a deep sleep, her heart calm and naturally cool.
About half an hour later, Albert Wilson gently called her name, but she didn't respond; the sound of her peaceful breathing filled the air. Carefully, he inched toward the edge of the bed.
With one hand propped on his arm, he leaned over and watched her. Her delicate brows were slightly furrowed in her sleep. He thought, even when she slept, she wouldn't let down her guard—how worrisome that was!
Strangely compelled, he extended his long fingers to smooth the wrinkles between her brows before finally falling asleep himself.
And he dreamed sweetly until dawn.
