Mrs. He had a mission.
Her goal was simple and urgent: Operation Grandbaby.
And ideally, she wanted it done this week.
That's why she insisted on moving in for a few days—to "spend time with her lovely daughter-in-law" and "help the young couple bond," but really, she was there to play matchmaker… in the most old-school way possible.
Of course, Hailey and Ethan had no idea what she was truly up to. They thought as long as they acted like a sweet, happily married couple in front of her, they were off the hook.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Ethan didn't come home until late that night. As usual.
He opened the bedroom door quietly. The dim orange glow from the streetlight outside spilled in through the window, casting long shadows across the room.
On the bed, a small figure was curled up under the covers.
He paused.
The faint scent of roses lingered in the air—soft, subtle, but impossible to ignore. It clung to the sheets like a whisper, like the ghost of a memory.
He turned on the lamp, grabbed his sleepwear, and headed for the bathroom.
Ethan wasn't the kind of guy who usually wore pajamas—just a loose pair of pants was enough. But whenever he had to share a bed with Hailey, he made an exception. It was less about comfort, and more about boundaries.
Hailey, of course, wasn't really asleep.
She'd heard him come in, heard him walk into the bathroom.
But pretending to sleep was easier than pretending to be okay.
A few minutes later, she felt the mattress dip as he climbed into bed. He didn't say a word. Just turned off the light, rolled over, and faced the other direction.
She let out a silent breath of relief. At least tonight would be quiet.
He wouldn't touch her. He almost never did.
Unless he was drunk, or caught up in some rare flicker of emotion, Ethan treated intimacy like a business meeting—scheduled, calculated, and almost always avoided.
The man gave off full-on monk energy.
So Hailey relaxed, knowing she could sleep in peace.
But Ethan… couldn't.
At first, he thought it would be fine. He was tired. It had been a long day. He expected to close his eyes and pass out in seconds.
But that rose scent was really starting to get to him.
It wrapped around his senses, teasing his nerves like a memory he couldn't quite grab hold of.
He shifted under the covers.
It wasn't just the scent.
It was her. Her presence. Her warmth just inches away. Her soft breathing, so close he could almost feel it against his skin.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything else.
Work.
Spreadsheets.
Board meetings.
Anything but her.
But the brain, when deprived, gets creative.
And Ethan's had no trouble filling in the blanks.
The truth was, he had never really been interested in women. Not because he had anything against them—he just never had time. After age eighteen, his world revolved around one thing: business. And unfortunately, around that same time…
Hailey Tang had entered his life.
She was like a tornado in heels.
Always chasing after him, declaring her love in loud, dramatic ways. Following him around campus. Showing up outside his meetings with handmade bento boxes and heart-shaped notes.
It was… overwhelming.
He thought all women were like her—clingy, emotional, and way too loud. So he'd kept his distance. Kept himself guarded.
And just when he started building up walls, she smashed right through them.
Because of her relentless pursuit, he never got the chance to interact with other women. The few who tried were quickly scared off by Hailey's sheer possessiveness.
Which meant that, somehow, inexplicably…
Hailey became the only woman he had ever touched.
The first. The only.
It had been a drunken mistake. A night he didn't plan. One thing led to another—and the next thing he knew, he was being told to take responsibility.
Now here they were. Married.
Legally bound.
Emotionally? Not even close.
He didn't want to love her. Didn't want to want her. But his body wasn't exactly cooperating.
Especially tonight.
That scent. That memory. The way her body had once felt beneath his fingertips—too soft, too warm, too real.
Especially that one time. The charity gala. The backstage makeup room.
He hadn't even done anything, just held her for a moment.
But somehow, just that fleeting contact had shaken him more than any of their past… encounters.
His fingers still remembered the texture of her skin. The way she'd shivered slightly when he touched her wrist. The way her scent had clung to his shirt for hours afterward.
And right now?
Right now his fingers were itching again.
It was like a phantom sensation, calling out to him from the past.
Damn it.
He gritted his teeth, turning onto his back.
I hate her, he reminded himself. I don't want her. I don't need her. This is just biology.
But no matter how many times he repeated it, his body wasn't listening.
He risked a glance in her direction.
Still sleeping.
Still soft.
Still her.
And that… was the problem.