After a night of passion, I had no idea how I even fell asleep. When I woke up, my head was pounding.

That alcohol from last night really packed a punch.

Rubbing my temples, I sat up and exhaled deeply.

Suddenly, a low, husky voice from behind startled me.

“Awake?”

I shuddered, feeling an overwhelming sense of anxiety, as though I’d been caught doing something wrong. Instinctively, I swallowed hard, pulling the blanket up to cover the intimate marks on my skin.

I forced an awkward smile and glanced at him, my mouth opening and closing before I finally managed to say, “Pierce…”

He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his gaze intense and almost mischievous, as if he could see right through me.

“That’s not what you called me last night.”

My mind immediately flashed back to the madness of the night before, and my cheeks flushed with heat.

Did we really…?

He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply as if savoring my scent, the scent that only belonged to him. His soft hair brushed against my chin, and before I knew it, my hand was gently stroking his head, relishing the long-lost intimacy between us.

The warm sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the rumpled sheets.

In the center of the light was a stark, unmistakable stain of blood.

Pierce lifted his head, following my gaze, a fleeting expression of surprise crossing his face before he kissed my cheek gently. “Does it still hurt?”

Even the smallest change in his demeanor didn’t escape me—something was off about Pierce.

Noticing the doubt in my eyes, Pierce coughed lightly, and once again, his hand instinctively brushed his nose as he smiled. “Need me to remind you of what happened last night?”

That was when it hit me—the blood on the bed was proof of my virginity.

Flushing with embarrassment, I buried my face in my hands, too shy to speak.

Just then, Pierce’s gaze darkened, and he coughed again, pressing his lips together as if in thought.

He wrapped me snugly in the blanket before standing, turning his back to me as a faint cough escaped him again.

He hurriedly dressed, fumbling a bit in his haste—so much so that he nearly buttoned his shirt unevenly until I pointed it out.

This wasn’t like the calm and collected Pierce I knew.

As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but ask, “Pierce, what’s going on with you?”

His body tensed, but he quickly turned and walked back over to me.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little cold. I need to head to the office for a bit. Be good and stay home.”

I watched his retreating figure with suspicion. Was something wrong at his company?

After getting into the car, Pierce pulled out the medication hidden in the corner and swallowed it dry, which only triggered a more violent coughing fit.

The bitter taste spread through his mouth as he stared in despair at the blood staining his palm.

I stood by the window, watching as Pierce’s car slowly disappeared from view, a heavy weight settling on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

His unusual behavior kept gnawing at me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something serious had happened.

By noon, I was standing outside Pierce’s office building, carrying a homemade lunch. My steps quickened as I replayed his strange behavior in my mind, my heart racing with anxiety.

I stepped out of the elevator only to see Pierce’s assistant hurrying toward me. Thinking he might have forgotten me after all this time, I was about to introduce myself, but before I could speak, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a corner.

Before I could ask what was going on, the assistant raised a finger to his lips, signaling me to stay quiet and leave.

Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering from Pierce’s office made my heart lurch, and I stumbled back a step, panic rising in my chest.

Through the frosted glass, I could make out Pierce’s furious figure, throwing everything off his desk. His violent coughing fit followed as he doubled over, his chest heaving.

What was happening to him?

I moved to rush in, but the assistant blocked my path firmly.

“Miss Lambert, Mr. Donovan is busy. You can’t go in.”

I was frantic now, my voice rising. “Busy? Look at him! Let me in!”

Through the glass door, I saw Pierce leaning over, bracing himself against the desk, struggling to catch his breath.

My worry spiked—was he sick?

I couldn’t understand why the assistant was stopping me. Finally, I yanked free from his grip and pushed the door open, storming into the office.

The assistant followed behind me, panic written all over his face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan, Miss Lambert—she just…”

I raised my hand to cut him off, my eyes widening in disbelief at the scene before me.

The once-pristine office was now a disaster. Shattered glass littered the floor, and everything was thrown into chaos—except for one thing: the photo of Pierce and me from three years ago, still standing perfectly intact on the desk.

Stepping carefully over the shards of broken glass, I made my way to Pierce’s side. My hands trembled with uncertainty, cold sweat slicking my palms as I hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Finally, my cold hand reached out, gently cupping his pale cheek. I whispered softly, trying to soothe him, “It’s okay, I’m here now.”

Pierce slowly closed his eyes, his head dropping weakly.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, supporting his weight as he leaned heavily against me. Though the effort left me unsteady on my feet, I gently patted his back, trying to comfort him.

His breathing was faint, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and exhausted. “I scared you… I’m sorry.”

There was a deep sense of guilt in his tone.

I stayed quiet, wanting to get closer to him, but as soon as I lifted my foot, I noticed the bright red blood on the ground.

I jumped, a gasp escaping my lips.

"Why is there blood? Are you hurt?"

Panic surged through me as I hurriedly checked his palms and the backs of his hands. Pierce pressed his lips together, pulling his hands away, his movements betraying a hint of unease.

I stared at him in confusion, but he avoided my gaze.

Then my eyes fell on his elbow, where blood was still dripping down his arm. He seemed completely unaware of the pain, even casually brushing his hand over his neck.

My heart raced as I grabbed his arm, my breath catching when I saw the deep, jagged wound. I gasped sharply.

Pierce, now visibly more relaxed, simply said, "The blood on the floor must’ve splattered when I got hurt."

As I tended to the wound, his brows furrowed, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead, yet he still managed to reassure me.

"Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt."

Tears welled up in my eyes, nearly spilling over.

That afternoon, he didn’t go back to work and obediently came home with me to rest. He claimed his earlier outburst was just due to work stress, telling me not to overthink it. But I could sense that he was leaning on me more than before.

The sound of water echoed through the room, and the bathroom door, fogged over, barely revealed his tall silhouette.

"Pierce, be careful not to wet your wound," I called out from the doorway.

But just as the words left my mouth, I heard him cry out in pain.

Startled, I pushed the door open, only to be pulled in by him.

He pinned me against the cold, damp wall.

My entire body trembled, but my worry for his wound took over. Glancing at the bandage, I could only see a few droplets of water—nothing serious.

Seeing my confused expression, Pierce raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer, his smirk giving him the look of a mischievous playboy.

Water still clung to his shoulders, sparkling faintly under the light. The droplets slid down his muscles, disappearing into the deep lines of his abdomen.

"You tricked me!" I pouted, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Suddenly, he flinched, clutching his elbow with a pained expression.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked, my voice laced with concern.

Pierce straightened up at my words, lifting me onto the sink. With one hand braced against the wall, he gently bit my lips, his tone carrying a teasing dominance. “I was just messing with you.”

The bright light illuminated his lowered eyes as the humid air swirled around us. I barely had time to think before wrapping my arms around his neck. The undeniable tension between us filled the space, growing heavier with each passing moment.

The night passed quickly. When the blinding sunlight finally broke through, I groggily opened my eyes. Instinctively, my hand reached for the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

I didn’t think much of it—maybe Pierce had gone to work early.

Yawning, I calmly picked up my phone and called him. The ringing stopped abruptly as I was about to ask where he was, but all I heard was the busy tone.

My brow furrowed in confusion. I called several more times, but each one ended the same way, like the calls were disappearing into a void.

My mind suddenly flashed back to the day he left me three years ago.

Panic surged through me, and I couldn’t sit still any longer.

I rushed to Pierce’s office.

But to my shock, the security guards who usually let me pass without question stopped me at the entrance.

A sinking feeling of dread settled in my chest, growing worse until Pierce’s familiar sports car sped past me. My mind went blank, buzzing with disbelief.

Pierce was behind the wheel, and a woman was seated in the passenger seat beside him.

Ignoring the security, I sprinted after the car, not caring that my heel snapped in the process.

“Pierce!” I shouted his name, my voice desperate, but the only response was the roar of the engine fading into the distance.

Was he going to leave me again, just like he did three years ago?

Last night, he whispered sweet words into my ear, but now…

Why would he do this to me?

I searched everywhere I could think of where Pierce might be, and finally, barefoot and exhausted, I found myself standing outside the Donovan family estate, a place I hadn’t set foot in for years.

His sports car was parked right at the entrance.

I had tossed my broken heels aside, my bare feet cold against the ground as I made my way inside.

Pierce’s mother, Grace Palmer, was sitting on the sofa, her eyes red and swollen, with tear stains still visible on her cheeks. She looked surprised to see me, but even more so by my disheveled state.

After a brief moment of shock, she gestured for me to sit down. “Florence, come sit. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

But I was frozen in place, my heart pounding as a chill swept through me, leaving me trembling, completely at a loss.

The person she wanted to introduce was none other than the woman I had seen passionately kissing Pierce that night. At that moment, it hit me—the woman in the car had been her all along.