In the shower room—
Celia stumbled as Nathaniel Fu dragged her inside. He turned on the shower, and an icy spray of water hit her body instantly.
"Ah!" Celia gasped, trembling from the cold. She stared at him in shock. "Nathaniel, what are you doing? Are you insane?!"
She tried to push him away and run, but he caught her by the waist and shoved her into the corner. The cold tiles pressed against her back, and he ripped the showerhead from its stand, directing the freezing water straight at her.
"Where did he touch you?" Nathaniel's voice was low and dangerous. "Here? Or here? I'll wash you clean. I'll scrub away every filthy place he touched!"
The torrent of water continued to fall over her. Celia crashed against the cold wall, tears springing to her eyes. She looked up at the man before her—his expression twisted in rage and loathing, as if she were the filthiest thing in existence.
Everything she had suppressed until now exploded all at once.
"Why are you doing this to me, Nathaniel?" she shouted. "I'm not your little maid anymore!"
"What did I do wrong? Did I offend you at the bar tonight? Why do you keep humiliating me?! You say I'm shameless, that I'm dirty, that I'm cheap—what did I do? Did I seduce your father? Did I dig up your ancestors' graves?"
Nathaniel's body was taut with fury. Veins bulged from his neck as he suddenly grabbed her throat and slammed her against the wall.
His voice was low and hoarse as he spat, "No, you didn't seduce my father. You seduced me, Celia. Over and over again, you seduce me!"
He had told himself to leave. He had reminded himself that Sylvia was his wife, that she was the one he should be focusing on.
But still, he had come back.
The thought of Celia pinned beneath another man had driven him mad. The sight of her on the dance floor, swaying her hips, twisting like a siren—he couldn't bear it.
It disgusted him.
It intoxicated him.
This wasn't the first time he had grabbed her like this.
Celia met his eyes with her own—clear, wounded, and stubborn. She looked like a cornered creature, confused and deeply hurt by his cruelty.
She felt utterly wronged.
He had taken her first time without even knowing it was her. She had pretended to be Sylvia—for his sake.
He held her, kissed her, called her "Mrs. Fu," and projected everything meant for Sylvia onto her.
He knew nothing.
She knew everything.
And now he accused her of seduction, treated her like a stain on his otherwise spotless life.
What right did he have?
"When did I ever seduce you, Nathaniel?" she demanded, voice trembling. "Tell me!"
Right now.
This very moment.
Nathaniel stared at her tear-soaked face. Her eyes shimmered, framed by dark lashes, delicate and devastating. Her fragile vulnerability hit him like a tidal wave.
Suddenly, he loosened his grip.
His hands moved from her neck to cradle her face. He leaned down and, without a word, pressed his lips to her eyes.
Celia's eyes widened in disbelief.
What was he doing?
Why was he kissing her like this, if he supposedly hated her?
He kissed her eyes again and again, his breath growing heavier. Then his lips moved down—brushing over her soft nose, then finally landing on her lips.
"Fu Nancheng!" Celia turned her face away, her voice sharp with resistance. "Have you forgotten about Sylvia? You're a married man!"
The name Sylvia struck like a thunderclap.
Nathaniel froze. His tall figure went rigid, his lips stopped mere inches from hers.
He was a married man.
But here he was, burning with desire for a woman who wasn't his wife.
He had become the kind of man he despised.
"Get out," he growled coldly, turning away.
Celia took a shaky breath and moved to leave.
But just then, Nathaniel's gaze dropped—and froze.
He had seen it.
That unmistakable, beautiful mark just below her collarbone—the three-petaled peach blossom birthmark.