The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.

Elena Clark quietly peeked her head out from under the covers, squinting toward the bathroom. The glass was all fogged up, Alexander Bennett’s silhouette faintly moving behind it.

They’d been together for three and a half years, and he hadn’t come over that many times.

Tonight… made it the fourteenth.

He always showed up at night, never stayed over—just came, did what he wanted, then left.

Elena reached under her pillow and pulled out a small black notebook. She flipped to a blank page and neatly jotted down the date: July 6.

He arrived at 9:40 PM. It was now 11:40. Which meant he’d just spent nearly two hours exhausting her.

No wonder everything ached—she felt like she’d been dismantled and reassembled.

Just as she was about to set the pen down, a slender, clean hand appeared out of nowhere and snatched the notebook right from in front of her.

“Give it back…” Elena panicked, instantly sitting up, arms outstretched to grab it.

The second her body straightened, a chill brushed across her bare skin. Her eyes widened—she wasn’t wearing anything!

Alexander’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, his cold gaze drifting down from her neck…

Elena shivered again, cheeks burning as she crossed her arms over her chest quickly, shrinking under the covers. She stammered, “That’s my diary, can you please give it back?”

“Diary?” Alexander glanced down at it, flipping through pages they'd never talked about. Each one chronicled the dates he came, the start and end times. She’d even noted measurements and… changes. Hidden between the pages—anatomical sketches.

Elena’s brows furrowed deeply, her face heating up even more. She looked like she’d been doing scientific research on him.

“A diary,” he muttered, before tossing the notebook straight into the trash. His expression remained unreadable.

This was the first time she’d seen him actually lose his temper. Usually, he barely spoke a word before leaving.

Elena bit her lip and mumbled, “It’s not… I wasn’t drawing you…”

“Then who was it?” Alexander folded his arms, lips curling into a faint smile.

But that smile definitely wasn’t friendly. The guy lived up to his name—cold to the bone.

There were only six months left on their marriage contract. Now was not the time to stir up trouble. These past few years had worked out okay—he only came by every so often, and although it wasn’t always comfortable, at least he never made things harder for her. Why did he have to find the notebook now of all times?

“Look at me,” came his ice-cold tone.

She curled up tight, cheeks burning with shame, and hesitantly lifted her head. His dark hair was still damp, drops of water running down his chest and sliding over his tan skin. A gray towel hung low on his hips.

Elena was dumbstruck. Normally, she only dared steal glances at him from TV—he was the kind of man who naturally commanded attention, the sole heir of the Bennett family, devastatingly good-looking. His eyes held the kind of depth that could swallow you whole.

“Who were you drawing?” Alexander leaned down, grabbing a strand of her hair and tugging it forward.

Her face was pulled close—barely half an inch separated them.

“Hm…” he hummed, the sound dragging out. His voice was low and smooth—dangerously sharp, like it could cut right through her.

Then, before she could react, he shrugged off the towel.

Again.

The fourth time tonight.

This had never happened before.

Elena panicked—she couldn’t take much more of this.

“It hurts… really, it does…” she pleaded, curling into a ball.

“Where?” Alexander muttered, biting her lower lip, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.

Her embarrassment was enough to light the blankets on fire.

“What, brave enough to draw but too scared to say anything now?” he said with a smirk that was anything but kind.

Elena barely managed to shield herself with her hands, unable to get a single word out…