Chapter 11
Hazel's POV
Embarrassment burned through me so fiercely that I did the only thing I could think of—fake sleep. I pressed my face against the car seat and kept my breathing even, pretending to drift in a drunken haze. I didn't know how to face him, not after… that.
How could I explain that a single smack against my backside had made me moan? That my body had betrayed me in such a shameful way?
Have I become some kind of masochist? Or was it just the wine? I told myself it was the alcohol, clinging desperately to the excuse. Admitting the truth—that it was him—was far more terrifying.
Carefully, I opened one eye a fraction, just to peek at him. Val sat across from me, unfazed, composed, as though the world couldn't touch him. His chiseled features were illuminated by the faint glow from the window, every shadow enhancing the hard lines of his jaw and the cool sharpness of his gaze. His fingers moved with precision across the laptop he held, his focus unshakable.
My heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
Quickly, I shut my eye again the moment he turned his head. I couldn't let him catch me staring like a lovestruck fool. No, I needed to maintain this façade, to feign sleep until we reached home, and then I could pretend to pass out fully—drunk, untouchable, safe from his probing questions. That was my plan.
But as life had already shown me, nothing ever went according to plan.
The car slowed, coming to a halt. My heartbeat picked up speed, thudding against my ribs. If I stayed very still, maybe he'd just leave me be…
" When you're done pretending, hurry up and get out of the car. Or do you plan to spend the night here?"
His cold, detached voice sliced through the quiet, making me stiffen instantly. My act was ruined.
Sighing, I forced my eyes open, pouting despite myself. "Fine." My voice was hoarse with false drowsiness as I slid out of the car. His gaze followed me—hawk-like, assessing every move.
I tried to walk, but my ankle gave a sharp twinge. I winced, stumbling slightly. The sprain from earlier when I'd run was still there, punishing me for my recklessness.
Of course, his eyes caught it. Those sharp, scrutinizing eyes that made me feel stripped bare. My chest tightened with irritation. He was making me look like one of those pitiful, scheming stepsisters in cheap melodramas—hurting themselves just to gain sympathy from the cold male lead. I wanted to scream that I wasn't like them.
So I forced myself to limp faster, determined to escape his shadow, even if my steps were unsteady from the lingering alcohol.
But then—
A shadow fell over me, and suddenly, he was there.
Without a word, Val bent down and scooped me up with one arm, as if I weighed nothing. Startled, I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from falling. My face was so close to his—closer than it had ever been. The faint scent of cedar and steel clung to him, cool and intoxicating.
I shouldn't have looked. But I did. And the more I looked, the more I realized something I hated to admit: I could never grow tired of his beauty. His face wasn't merely handsome—it was something else, something otherworldly. Something that could never belong to this world.
The realization made me panic. I quickly averted my gaze, muttering bitterly in my heart. Better he carried me like a sack of rice over his shoulder than this… this dangerous closeness.
Because if he carried me this way, I might actually forget who he was. I might forget what he'd done. I might—
" Shouldn't I get my own room?" I blurted as we passed the familiar hallway, heading once again toward the master bedroom.
His reply came, cold and merciless.
" Couples sleep together. Or do you think I don't know how you planned to run away the moment I left for work?"
My lips parted, but no argument came out. He was right. I had thought of it.
For a fleeting, ridiculous second, I imagined he might lay me gently on the bed, like the tender male leads from the romantic Korean dramas I once binged in my old life. But of course, Val wasn't that type of man.
Reality hit when he tossed me—not onto the bed, but into the cold bathtub. The icy water shocked my senses, chasing away whatever dizziness the wine had left in me.
" Wash off those filthy pheromones from your body." His voice was low, but it cut like a blade. Without waiting for my reaction, he unbuttoned his cuffs and walked away, leaving me trembling and dripping in the tub.
I sat there for a long moment, shivering—not from the cold water, but from the way he could be so ruthlessly inhumane.
"So, that little softness before was just because of his rut," I muttered bitterly to myself. "Naturally, he's this heartless."
The thought of leaving gnawed at me. But where would I go? If I stormed out with my pride, I'd be begging in the streets within weeks. Wasn't that just handing the Vernons the perfect chance to trample me again?
No. I clenched my jaw, resolve forming like steel in my chest. No matter how he tried to treat me, I would cling to this marriage. Free food. Free wealth. Free leverage. If this was my cage, then I'd learn how to survive in it.
That thought alone gave me strength.
But the illusion of strength crumbled the moment I realized my problem. My clothes were soaked, clinging to me in the worst possible way. The towel was hanging outside the bath, out of reach. My cheeks flamed with frustration.
Seriously… could I survive a marriage with this man?