Quinn POV： When I woke up, I was lying in a massive, unfamiliar bed. My mind was hazy, my vision swimming as I stared at the strange ceiling above me. Last night had been the department dinner, and I had carelessly let myself drink two glasses too many. And then... My fingers began to tremble, a sudden wave of heat rushing through my veins as memory snapped violently into focus. That deep, guttural groan of his, rough and heavy with intoxicating heat, was still echoing against the shell of my ear like a wicked spell. The phantom friction of his burning skin, the breathless pants muffled against my neck, the ruthless grip of his large hands—it all rushed back in a dizzying wave, making my face flush crimson and my heart stutter in my chest. I cut off my spiraling thoughts immediately. I needed to get out of this dangerous place before whoever owned this room returned. Reaching down, I picked up the white silk shirt lying crumpled on the floor. It was completely shredded down the front. Could this even be worn outside? My trembling hand tossed the ruined fabric aside. Right by the edge of the bed sat a clean set of clothes. It had obviously been left behind by him—a sharp, tailored skirt suit. I slipped into it in a hurry. It was definitely not my usual style, most likely bought off the rack on short notice just to handle the emergency. Heading into the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. My neck was clean, not a single visible blemish in sight. But right beneath my collarbones? Absolute, unmitigated chaos. Feverish red marks, bruised bites, and lingering heat trailed all the way down. Ha! Should I actually compliment this man on being a gentleman? He had taken such meticulous care to keep my neckline spotless, terrified someone might find out he had spent the night with another person! I let out a breath, walked out of the bathroom, and grabbed my clutch from the nightstand. This was a massive suite, completely stripped of any lived-in warmth. It did not look like a hotel, yet in many ways, it felt just like one. I pushed open the door and stepped out. Sure enough, it was not a hotel. A sprawling, luxury living room stretched out before me, and sitting right in the center was a figure that made my breath catch in my throat. He was wearing high-end black loungewear, headphones over his ears, lounging on the sofa with a pillow propped under his laptop. He looked indolent, effortless, and strikingly aloof. Hearing movement from the doorway, he slowly lifted his deep, piercing gaze. The man sitting there was none other than my CEO, Winston Kensington... Wasn't he supposed to be the untouchable, chaste god of the corporate world? Judging by his unhinged appetite last night, that monastic restraint was a total joke. He had not been practicing discipline; he had acted like a starved S-class Alpha unleashed for the first time in decades. I stood frozen in shock, my lips parting to speak, but Winston beat me to it. "I am in a meeting," he said, his voice low and dark. I clamped my mouth shut instantly, knowing full well what he meant. "Come here. Have some breakfast." He leaned forward slightly, his slender fingers pushing a warm glass of honey water across the coffee table, nudging it toward a plate with a breakfast sandwich identical to his own. As he leaned forward, his loose collar fell open. My heart stopped—the webcam on his laptop was pointing directly at the violent red marks on his throat. If the camera was running in high definition, every single executive on that call was looking straight at my handiwork. My face burned so hot it felt like it was on fire. Those... were definitely left behind by my nails and teeth. I silently prayed this place had an invisible exit so I could step through the door and run straight home. Shivering slightly, I sat down on the edge of the sofa, my eyes darting everywhere except toward him. All I could do was obediently sip the honey water and nibble on the sandwich. Winston Kensington was famous for being ice-cold. Cold temper, cold personality, cold through and through. I had truly kicked a titanium plate this time. I must have stumbled into the wrong car last night. Just yesterday, I had discovered that my fiancé of five years, Nolan, was secretly entangled with my so-called best friend. The sheer nausea and rage had driven me to drink far too much at the dinner, completely clouding my judgment. Getting into the wrong car to drown the humiliation of a cheating fiancé was disastrous enough, but waking up to realize I had tangled with my own CEO was a full-blown catastrophe. How could this razor-sharp billionaire mistake who was in his arms? Sleeping with an employee—did he not care about his reputation at all? Fifteen minutes later, he concluded the call and shut the laptop, finally picking up his cutlery to eat with calm, measured grace. "My apologies. I did not know it was your first time. I was... a bit too rough." He was as cold as ever, speaking in the exact same detached tone he used during executive board resolutions, his face entirely expressionless. "Cough, cough..." Having just managed to regain my composure, the red flush instantly rushed back into my cheeks. What happened, happened! Did we really need a verbal review?! "The family physician will be here shortly. Wait until you are checked before you leave." Unbelievable. The moment the ride was over, he was calling in the medical team. Was he terrified I might end up pregnant with an unexpected heir to claim his family throne? I finished the last gulp of honey water in one go, having no idea how to answer him. He ate very quickly, finishing his portion in minutes. "Wait here. I need to head to headquarters today. I will have Liam drive you back." I urgently cut in. "Lord Winston, I can head back on my own, it's no trouble at all." "Are you blaming me for not performing well last night?" He lifted his gaze slightly, looking faintly aggrieved. "Huh?!" For some reason, my heart began to thud wildly against my ribs.

Quinn POV： How on earth could I dare! My mind went completely blank, tongue-tied and utterly unable to counter his outrageous statement. For the first time in my life, I was thoroughly crushed in a battle of words. If he were not my billionaire CEO, I would have flipped the table and torn that deadpan mouth of his to pieces right then and there. "Lord Winston, Dr. Bloom has arrived." An older maid appeared quietly by the archway. He did not reply immediately, his dark gaze resting silently on me. My skin prickled with unbearable heat. With fair skin and naturally golden hair, my mixed heritage had always drawn attention, but beneath his unblinking scrutiny, the flush on my cheeks ignited like wildfire. "Follow me," Winston finally said, letting out a breath so faint it was almost imperceptible. I followed him obediently. What choice did I have after tangling with the apex predator of the luxury fashion world? He led me straight back to the master bedroom, the exact battlefield where we had waged war last night. The sight of that massive mattress made my palms break into a cold sweat, even though the maid had already stripped away the chaos and redressed it in crisp, spotless linens. A professional female physician in a tailored medical coat stepped into the room. Winston turned, walked out into the corridor, and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. I had braced myself for an interrogation, an invasive toxicology screen, or a forced morning-after injection to purge any trace of his S-class biology. It was none of those things. Instead, Dr. Julianna Bloom opened a silver case and pulled out a jar of chilled, pharmaceutical-grade anti-inflammatory gel. She had me loosen the high collar of my suit and gently massaged the translucent balm over my tender gland, smoothing it down across the raw, friction-burned hollows beneath my collarbones. The icy salve worked like magic, dulling the throbbing ache within seconds. The entire time, I buried my face in both hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. It was mortifying beyond words. By the time I walked out into the private foyer, Winston had already left for corporate headquarters. Waiting for me downstairs was Liam Foster. Liam was twenty-two, the exact same age as me. We had graduated from the same university, applied to Kensington Luxe in the same recruitment drive, and started on the very same day. The only difference was that while I was grinding away as an entry-level designer, Liam had quickly proven his sharp instincts and risen to become Winston Kensington's sole executive assistant. Standing beside the sleek black Maybach in the underground garage, Liam flashed me a wide, mischievous grin. My dignity felt like it had shattered into dust across the concrete floor. I slipped into the leather passenger seat, pressed my forehead against the cool tinted window, and muttered, "Did I... get into the wrong car last night?" "You certainly did, future Lady Kensington," Liam teased, leaning back as he started the engine. "I have known you for four years, and I have never seen you drink that much champagne. You climbed into the wrong car, saw the boss sitting in the back, threw both arms around his neck, and started planting kisses all over his face. You were ferocious!" Liam glanced over at me with an amused smirk. "The boss had a couple of drinks in him too, but you know the man has notorious germaphobia. He was practically paralyzed, terrified to move a muscle, while you went ahead and tore his bespoke shirt wide open, popping half the pearl buttons across the leather seats." I slumped deeper into the seat, burying my burning face in my hands as the humiliating scene played out in my head. "I offered to drive you back to your rental in Queens," Liam continued, "but considering you live alone, the boss figured you were too wasted to take care of yourself. So he had me bring you straight up to his private penthouse instead." "Ha. Ha." I forced a stiff, lifeless smile. "So, you and the boss..." Liam glanced over, scanning my appearance from head to toe. I had to give Winston credit where it was due. The man had uncanny foresight; my visible neckline was completely pristine. "As you can see," I said, pointing a finger at my immaculate, bare throat. "Looks like the boss was still too much of a gentleman," Liam remarked with a low whistle. "Right," I dragged the syllable out with heavy sarcasm. "A gentleman. A total hypocrite." It was the first working day after the long holiday weekend. Most of the corporate world was easing back into the rhythm, and plenty of senior staff were still enjoying paid time off. But ordinary wage slaves like me still had to report to the salt mines on time. I made sure Liam dropped me off two blocks away from the Kensington Luxe tower. His car was the CEO's personal transport; if anyone from the design studio saw me stepping out of that Maybach, I would be roasted alive on the office grapevine before lunchtime. I slipped out at the corner and darted straight into a quiet corner apothecary. I walked up to the counter and bought a heavy-duty, over-the-counter morning-after scent-neutralizing contraceptive pill. I had no idea whether he had taken precautions during the chaos of his rut, but I was not taking any chances. I swallowed the pill dry with a bitter gulp, determined to squash any possibility of an unexpected pregnancy before it could even begin.

Quinn POV： Just as the bitter taste of the pill settled in my throat, my phone began to vibrate violently. The screen lit up with Nolan's name, sending a fresh wave of disgust straight to my stomach. I looked at the glowing display, a cold, mocking smirk pulling at the corner of my lips. Two years of long-distance postgraduate study in Europe had apparently been far too much for his fragile self-control. Yet even after throwing our history away for a cowardly, covert affair, he still had the audacity to call as though nothing had changed. I had not confronted him or Audrey yet. I had zero desire to waste emotional bandwidth on petty screaming matches or messy, undignified squabbles. I was not going to trade minor blows; I was waiting for the perfect stage to drop a tactical nuke and obliterate them both in one clean strike. Without answering, I swiped the screen and severed the call. Just as the display was about to sleep, a new encrypted contact request pinged across my Scent ID terminal. Winston Kensington. I stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring at the notification for several seconds, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Under what identity was he trying to add me? My CEO? Or his casual bed partner? I gritted my teeth and tapped Decline without hesitation. I was an entry-level textile designer who had only been at Kensington Luxe for a single year. Aside from my direct design director, I rarely had reason to speak to upper management, let alone the man who owned the entire corporate empire. Kensington Luxe was the undisputed powerhouse of the domestic luxury fashion sector, dominating international runways and commanding billions in retail volume. Under normal circumstances, an ordinary designer would never cross paths with someone of Winston's stature. Last night was a pure accident. The holiday haute couture showcase had shattered all historical sales records, which was the only reason the reclusive billionaire had shown up to the private afterparty in the first place. Suddenly, a high-priority alert pinged from the design department group chat: All personnel report to Conference Room 28 for an emergency briefing in ten minutes. Ten minutes! I gasped, shoved my phone into my leather tote, and sprinted toward the towering glass facade of the Kensington Luxe skyscraper. Inside the building lobby, I rushed toward the executive elevators and bumped right into my good friend. "Quinn! You usually hate wearing corporate clothes, so what made you put on a tailored skirt suit today?" Chloe, a fellow designer in my division, looked me up and down with keen curiosity. It was true; I detested restrictive business suits. I forced a calm smile and casually tugged at the lapels of my jacket. "To highlight how substantial my work is, of course. I have to put the real assets on display." "Pfft..." Chloe giggled, glancing down at my curves before giving my backside a firm, congratulatory smack. "Whoever marries you is in for the luck of a lifetime!" Hiss! Pain flared through my bruised muscles, sharp and agonizing. I gritted my teeth and swallowed the whimper before it could escape. Just as the elevator doors were about to slide shut, a broad, manicured hand reached through the gap, stopping the sensors in their tracks. Liam Foster stepped inside, holding the door back, and behind him strode Winston Kensington, draped in an imposing, pitch-black three-piece suit. Chloe and I instinctively stepped back against the brass railing to make room. I swallowed hard. Winston was standing right beside me, while Chloe stood directly in front of us. I did not dare look at him. Whether it was the suffocating lack of space or the crushing weight of his S-class presence, I felt as if the air had been sucked clean out of my lungs. A burning crimson blush crept from behind my ears all the way across my cheeks. The two of us stood impossibly close in the crowded car, shoulder to shoulder, with nowhere left to pull away.