The CEO Begs for a Second Chance

John Smith pushed open the door and came home, carrying a faint smell of alcohol.

Jane Watson stood up from the sofa. She walked over, reaching out to help him take off his coat, but the moment she got close, she caught a familiar scent of perfume.

It was women's perfume, floral notes, expensive and refined.

Her hand paused, but she kept her expression unchanged as she took his coat and said softly, "I'll go run you a bath."

In the bathroom, she had just adjusted the water temperature when John grabbed her wrist from behind and pulled her into his arms.

Before Jane could react, his kiss came down on her, carrying the smell of alcohol and aggressive dominance.

His hands roughly tore open the buttons of her shirt, his movements urgent and forceful.

"Don't—" Jane pushed against his chest, "John, you're drunk."

"Jane, haven't you always wanted to sleep with me?" His voice was low and hoarse, his eyes filled with a desire she'd never seen before. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Before she could respond, he had already pinned her against the wall.

Jane's back hit the cold wall surface. His hand slipped under her skirt and roughly tore off her underwear.

She tried to push him away, but her body reacted uncontrollably—that unfamiliar, shameful reaction she'd never experienced before.

"You're already wet." His voice carried mockery as his fingers moved freely in her most private place.

Jane bit her lip hard, not letting herself make a sound.

This was the first time in three years of marriage that he had touched her, the first time she'd felt this heart-racing sensation.

But she knew he still carried another woman's perfume on him.

John didn't give her more time to think. He lifted her leg and thrust inside without warning.

"Ah—" Jane couldn't help but cry out, tears instantly flooding her eyes.

Pain. Piercing pain.

But he didn't stop. Instead, he pounded harder, as if venting all his anger on her.

"Already this wet!" He gritted his teeth, his voice barely containing his desire. "Your body's pretty honest."

Jane closed her eyes, letting tears fall. Her body rose and fell with his thrusts, that intertwined feeling of pain and pleasure nearly breaking her.

He took her for a long time, from the bathroom to the bedroom, from the bed to the carpet, again and again, as if never knowing fatigue.

When it was all over, Jane came out of the bathroom still carrying water vapor.

She wore a bathrobe, her hair hanging wet on her shoulders, looking weak and exhausted.

As soon as she walked into the bedroom, several photos were thrown in her face.

"Look what you've done!" John stood by the bed, his face dark with anger.

Jane bent down to pick up the photos. With just one glance, she knew they were fake.

The "her" in the photos had entered a hotel with a middle-aged man. The angles were tricky, but the lighting was clearly wrong.

"These photos are fake," she said calmly.

"Fake?" John laughed coldly. "The evidence is right here, and you still want to make excuses?"

He walked over and yanked at her bathrobe collar, his eyes full of disgust. "Slut! Going to hotels with old men, selling your body for money. Jane Doe, have you no shame?"

Jane didn't explain further.

Three years. She'd long gotten used to his coldness and distrust.

From the first day of marriage, she knew that John's heart belonged to another woman—Anna Watson, her half-sister.

For three years, she'd devoted herself to taking care of his daily life, learning to cook dishes he liked, remembering all his habits, but he'd never looked at her properly even once.

They had the name of marriage but never the reality of being husband and wife, until tonight.

"John Smith." She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "Do you believe me?"

"Believe you?" John sneered. "Once someone cheats, there will be countless times."

Jane's heart grew colder bit by bit.

"Did Anna Watson come back?" she suddenly asked.

John's expression changed, then returned to coldness. "This has nothing to do with her."

He turned and took out a document from the drawer, throwing it on the bed. "Divorce papers. Sign them. I'll give you enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life."

Jane looked at those papers, a wave of sadness rising in her heart.

So this was the ending of her three-year marriage.

She walked to the bed, pulled out two hundred-yuan bills from her wallet, and held them out to John. "Sleep with me once, and I'll sign."

John froze, then his face grew even uglier. "Jane Doe, do you have no shame?"

"What?" Jane grabbed his tie and pulled him close, her eyes challenging. "Can't John perform?"

John's eyes instantly became dangerous.

He pushed her down on the bed and roughly tore open her bathrobe.

"Can't perform?" He sneered and thrust hard inside her. "I'll show you if I can perform!"

That night was even longer than before.

John seemed to be proving something, taking her over and over, using all his strength each time, as if wanting to devour her completely.

"Already this wet, not tight at all." He whispered in her ear, his voice mocking. "How many men have you been with?"

Jane gritted her teeth, forcing herself to suppress her body's reaction, and said coldly, "John's technique is so poor, nowhere near the male models out there."

Her words completely enraged him.

John's eyes turned red, his movements became more fierce, wanting to meld her into his body.

But a voice in his heart said—this woman's body was like it was custom-made for him, every inch fitting perfectly.

They tangled until dawn, neither admitting defeat first.

When John woke up, it was already noon.

He opened his eyes to find the space beside him empty. On the nightstand lay the divorce papers, every page signed.

In the "Reason for Divorce" column, she had written in elegant handwriting: "Husband suffers from dead sperm syndrome, premature ejaculation, small size, and is unable to have children."

John's face instantly darkened.

He picked up his phone to call Jane, only to find he'd been blocked.

Six years later, Kennedy International Airport.

Jane walked out from the international arrivals passage pushing a luggage cart, her brown wavy hair swaying gently with her steps. Her beige trench coat outlined her perfect figure, and her delicate features stood out in the crowd.

Beside her were a pair of twins, about five or six years old.

The boy, Jack Watson, wore a small suit and sunglasses, already showing a noble bearing despite his young age. The girl, Jill Watson, wore a princess dress and waved at the onlookers, her smile as sweet as a little star.

The stunning looks of the mother and children attracted countless people to watch and take photos.

"Mommy, people are taking photos again," Jill said excitedly.

"Don't make a fuss." Jack pushed up his sunglasses, acting like a little adult.

Jane smiled and touched both children's heads. Just as she was about to head toward the exit, she caught sight of a familiar figure from the corner of her eye.

It was a man, facing sideways while on the phone. Tall and straight figure, cold and perfect profile, his whole body radiating a noble and cold aura.

It was John Smith.

Jane's heartbeat instantly accelerated.

"What? Sammy and Sophie are lost?" John Smith's voice—Jane could never forget it.

"Find them immediately!" John Smith commanded coldly. "If anything happens to my children, none of you need to come back!"

So he and Anna Watson already have children.

Jane immediately turned around, took out a mask from her bag and put it on, then walked quickly toward the exit.

Almost at the same time, John seemed to sense something and quickly turned his head, but saw nothing.