Chapter 4
Sterling POV
Damn it!
The sex addiction was acting up again.
Scorching heat surged through my body, demanding release. Every muscle tensed with restraint.
As head of the Lancaster family, I'd been raised from childhood as the heir. Duty and responsibility were carved into my bones.
I absolutely would not allow myself to wallow in base lust. Every time an episode hit, I'd take a cold bath to suppress it. I'd never lost control. Tonight would be no exception.
I unbuttoned my shirt, heading for the bathroom.
Suddenly the door burst open. A slender figure stumbled inside.
A woman. She wore a loose bathrobe, the dim light outlining her graceful curves. I couldn't see her face clearly, but a crisp jasmine scent crashed straight into my nostrils.
Fresh and sweet, stirring burning desire.
Reason told me to throw her out, but my body reacted first.
I grabbed her wrist, yanked her into my arms, and kissed her without a word.
Soft lips. Sweet fragrance. A long-absent sense of relief swept through me instantly.
I couldn't hear what she said. I only knew she stopped struggling. She even kissed me back.
I paused, gripped her waist, lifted her entirely, and pressed her against the wall.
I kissed her more fiercely, exploring her mouth, dancing with her tongue.
My hand slid from the back of her neck, loosening her robe, slipping inside.
But I tasted salt on her lips—tears.
"Crying?" I stopped, voice rough against her. "Sorry. My sex addiction kicked in. If you don't want this, you can leave now."
She didn't push me away. Instead, she looped her arms around my neck.
I knew in my heart—she'd clearly been deeply hurt, wanting to use this reckless moment as revenge.
I bit her delicate earlobe, voice low. "Been hurt? Want revenge?"
"Use me. I don't mind."
My fingertips stroked her cool lips as I said in a deep voice, "But be sure. Once this starts, I won't stop halfway."
"I'm sure." Her voice was calm.
"Then don't regret it."
I picked her up and strode toward the bed.
The robe slipped to the floor, revealing her tender skin.
Her initiative now, that sweet scent—everything made the fire inside me burn hotter.
When her legs wrapped around my waist, when her nails dug into my back, all restraint became meaningless.
Realizing it was her first time, I froze. I promised to marry her, then held her gently.
Our bodies fit perfectly. Soul-touching pleasure made me thrust deeper again and again, listening to her sweet moans, feeling every tightening of her body. I couldn't stop.
Until dawn, I held her and fell into sleep—the most peaceful rest I'd had in years.
When I woke, she was gone. If not for the spot of blood on the sheets, I'd have thought it was a dream.
She ran fast.
Even I, who never blinked at hundred-million-dollar contracts, felt oddly helpless.
Didn't she know who I was? How many people wanted the position of Mrs. Lancaster?
"Mr. Lancaster, about today's…"
My assistant Blake Bailey pushed the door open to report. Seeing the disheveled room, he froze.
I glanced over. My gaze landed on something by the door—a necklace.
Had that woman left it?
Last night the lighting was dim, and with the addiction flaring, I couldn't recall her face. I only remembered her skin I couldn't get enough of, and that faint jasmine scent.
A flicker of tenderness crossed my eyes. I ordered in a low voice, "Find the woman who entered the room last night. Be careful not to frighten her."
I didn't really want to attend the afternoon family banquet.
These occasions were always filled with fake pleasantries and boring small talk. Better to spend that time closing deals.
At the estate entrance, I'd just stepped out of the car when I saw Charles—and beside him, a beautiful, gentle woman.
Her figure, her movements—they felt strangely familiar.
I frowned. She must be Charles's new bride, Willow.
A pretty woman from an ordinary family—what was so special about her that Charles would defy his family, start his own company, and insist on marrying her?
"Good morning, Mr. Lancaster…" Willow greeted me stiffly, her voice nervous.
I nodded. My gaze swept over her lovely face, pausing at her neck.
Smooth and flawless. No marks.
Not her.
I'd left kiss marks on that woman's neck.
But when we passed each other, a familiar jasmine scent drifted into my nose. My steps faltered slightly.
I frowned. Maybe I was mistaken.
Charles's wife couldn't have been in my room.
Brushing off the fawning relatives, I headed toward the living room, hearing arguing inside.
I entered the hall. A crowd looked like they were watching a show.
At the center sat Willow, her face pale but her eyes cold and resolute.
Across from her stood Rachel Smith—the woman who'd grown up with Charles, the woman everyone assumed would be his wife.
And Penelope was backing Rachel, loudly berating Willow.
A nameless displeasure rose in my chest.
I didn't know exactly what had happened, but the scene itself was absurd enough—the second day after the wedding, at a family banquet, the bride was sidelined while another woman sat beside the groom.
Where was the Lancaster family's dignity?
"Peter," I spoke, my voice not loud but enough to silence the entire room, "please escort anyone unrelated to the Lancaster family out."
The butler immediately stepped forward, politely but firmly asking Rachel to leave.
Her face darkened as she followed Peter out. Penelope opened her mouth to protest but, meeting my gaze, closed it again.
"Penelope," my tone was emotionless, "you know I don't like dealing with unnecessary trouble when I return. I'll overlook it this time. Don't let it happen again."
She hurriedly agreed.
The banquet officially began. Servants brought food. Everyone waited for me to pick up my silverware first.
In the silence, Charles's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, stood to take the call, and soon returned. After a brief exchange with Willow, he left.
She didn't get angry. She even considerately told Charles to go ahead, saying the driver would take her home later.
Charles left. The others looked at Willow with pity and scorn.
She sat there, calmly eating as if nothing had happened.
Weak. Fake.
I labeled her in my mind.
Just another typical woman in a wealthy marriage. Seeing her husband keep a mistress but swallowing her pride—as long as she kept her position as Mrs. Lancaster, she'd sacrifice any dignity.
After the banquet ended, I got into my car. Blake reported from the front seat. "Mr. Lancaster, the CEO of Walter Group scheduled a meeting for seven tonight about that partnership…"
I listened absentmindedly, my gaze drifting out the window.
The Lancaster estate sat on a mountain, remote and isolated. Only one road led down.
A familiar figure appeared ahead, instantly capturing my full attention.
I recognized her immediately—Charles's wife. Willow.
She was alone, walking along the road.
The second day of her marriage, her husband abandoned her for another woman, and she was planning to walk home?
Easy to bully. I labeled her again.
But watching her straight, graceful back, the way she occasionally turned her head to admire the scenery with a smile—an indescribable emotion stirred in my chest.
Without thinking, I told Blake, "Pull the car over."
Blake hesitated but obeyed.
The car stopped in front of her. The window rolled down. Blake spoke for me. "Ms. Spencer, Mr. Lancaster requests that you get in."
I saw her clear, doe-like eyes widen with obvious surprise.
And panic?
