How wrong she was. And he'd prove it to her – soon enough.
Perhaps, if Linda hadn't whispered those malicious thoughts into his ear, he wouldn't have started reading so much into Anita's behavior.
"Go home, Linda." He rose from his seat, and unfortunately, so did his shame—bulging awkwardly in his crotch.
"But Dave, it's—"
He shot her a death glare, cutting through her like ice. "I said, go home."
There was finality in his tone, a sharpness that belied his usual casual personality; It made any protest die on her lips. Linda gathered her things with a pout and a hiss of indignation before she turned for the door, heels clicking with reluctance.
Then—slam!
The front door shook with the force of her exit, followed by the cold, mechanical chime of the password lock resetting filled the silence, sealing the house once more.
David exhaled, turned and headed up the stairs.
….
David strode into the bedroom—and froze. Anita stood completely bare, her back to him, reaching for a towel. Her body gleamed under the soft lighting, and she moved with the casual grace of someone unbothered by the man behind her.
Despite his shameful act for the past week, he had the balls to pretend all was well—his lips curled into a smirk as he shrugged off his shirt, kicked away his shoes, and pushed his boxers down, groaning slightly as his arousal sprang free.
Anita had never rejected his advances, no matter whether she was tired, sick, or not in the mood. And he was damn sure she wouldn't turn him away now.
"Nita, my love," he drawled, voice thick with anticipation as he stepped toward her. "You're so hot and I want to—"
But Anita didn't turn. Without a word, she walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The sharp click of the lock echoed louder than any rejection.
David blinked—stunned, confused—and then, his face changed as anger rose in his chest. He crossed the room in large strides and pounded on the door. "Anita!?" he barked.
No answer. Just the sound of the shower turning on.
Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, Anita stood motionless under the stream of hot water, fists clenched, jaw tight. Rage boiled under her skin as the urge to kill that man behind the door swelled with every bang on the door, but she forced herself to breathe. Slowly. Deliberately.
Not yet. Don't give him a reason to suspect. She told herself.
She couldn't afford recklessness. Not now. Charging at David with half-baked revenge would be suicide. She didn't yet know the full extent of his power, and public opinion was firmly in his favor. If she acted without strategy—without evidence—she'd lose. And this wasn't a battle she could afford to lose.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind: Power isn't given, Anita. It's taken—earned in blood and grit. I cannot give you back what you threw away, but you can fight for it.
The board of directors had already thrown their support behind her cousin, Anthony White. He was charming, ambitious, and now, their chosen successor to the White Corporation's throne. To reclaim what was hers, she would have to take him down—piece by piece.
Until then, there could be no mistakes. No scandals. No whispers of a crumbling marriage or emotional instability.
She had already committed the sin of walking away eight years ago—at the peak of her accomplishments. The board had admired her then, respected her even. But returning now with a broken marriage in tow? They'd see her as a liability, not a leader.
Anita breathed, buckling up every negative thought behind her perfect facade.
…
Outside, David growled in frustration. His fists pounded the door again, but the sound drowned under the rushing water. His arousal pulsed harder, demanding attention. He paced back and forth, eyes darting to the bathroom door at intervals.
He'd fucking tried to take his mind off it, but he couldn't. Anita's perfect body kept resurfacing in his mind.
She seduced him… and then locked him out?!
How dare she seduce him and leave him to burn?!
Minutes passed and the water finally stopped running. Then…silence.
David's veins pulsed with unspent rage and need. His jaw clenched as he stared down the bathroom door like it had personally offended him. The silence on the other side was deafening, and it did nothing to cool the fire raging inside him.
He stepped closer, hand poised to knock again, but the click of the lock turning made him freeze.
Click.
The door creaked open.
Anita stood there, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her wet blonde hair plastered to her face. Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of him, but the flicker of surprise vanished behind a serene mask—one he couldn't quite read.
That infuriating calmness again!
"You took your time," he said, voice rough.
"Hey," she said, voice smooth, "I was just getting ready for bed."
"You…" David's anger dissolved like candy floss tossed in water as he beheld her wet hair clinging to her face. Instinctively, he raised his hand to brush the strands away from her skin.
Seeing the hand hovering over her face—the same hand that had touched and played with other women, Anita stiffened, fighting the urge to slap his hand away.
When his fingers grazed her skin, she shuddered.
"Are you alright?" He asked, a slight frown of concern on his face.
"I am cold." She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips, "Good night, David."
With that, she walked past him, but the minute she did, her face frosted over as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, as if that would wipe away the lingering sensation of his lips on hers.
David swallowed, the quick contact with her had spiked his desire. His member throbbing faster, growing harder as he stood there, fists clenched by the side.
Didn't she notice? Or was she just pretending not to notice?
Could she be angry over something?... But she didn't seem angry.
His jaw clenched, mind reeling with thoughts as his eyes followed her across the room. She picked out a nightgown—thin, lacy, seductive.
David's pulse jumped and his eyes lit up with flames of desire.
'She wants me. She's inviting me,' he thought. Why else would she wear that?
Driven by a renewed hunger, he dashed into the bathroom. Anita liked it best when he was clean and freshly out of the bathroom—No sweat, no work stress. Only the sweet smell of mint soap and shampoo, a scent that always seemed to ignite a spark in her eyes.
David's heart beat a little faster as he thought about the feel of Anita under him, panting with her wet hair sprawled on the pillow, her smooth thigh wrapped firmly around his waist as he thrust hard and fast inside her.
He growled, muscles tensed from the heat coursing through him. He was hard. Too hard to waste another second in the shower.
He turned off the faucet, snatched a towel and ran it hastily over his toned body, droplets falling from his soaked black hair.
Shortly after, he carelessly wrapped around his waist—loosely, so much so that it could fall off with a slight tug, and rushed out of the bathroom.
And froze.
His eyes went wide.