His Coldness
His Coldness
Chapter 42: His Coldness.
Scarlett's POV.
The next morning,
The world was soft around me, still blurred at the edges. My limbs feel like they’ve sunk into the mattress, too heavy to move, too content to care. I stretch gently and feel the deep, delicious ache in my thighs— a slow reminder of everything we did before sleep claimed us.
My skin was warm and sticky with the faint sheen of sweat, cooling now in the early light. We did it nonstop even after the bath. There was a tangle of sheets twisted around one ankle and the ghost of his touch still resting on my hips. My chest rose with a long, slow breath, and I realized how deep my body sank into rest—not just sleep, but something fuller. Like being emptied and filled at the same time.
Between my legs, there was a tender throb — not pain, but softness. A pulse that says, "You gave yourself fully last night." Every movement feels deliberate, slow. I turn my face toward him. He was still beside me, peaceful, barely breathing. His scent clung to the pillows, to me. I inhaled it like a secret.
'I probably misunderstood him.’ I thought, staring at him.
I felt undone, in the best way. My body hums with something quieter now — no longer urgent, but still glowing. It was like the echo of a storm that passed hours ago, but the ground was still wet, and the air still carried the weight of it.
My eyes closed again. Not to sleep — just to be. To stay in those in-between places where nothing was demanded of me. Where I was just a woman.
After some time, I didn't realize when I slept off again, but I woke up to the sound of Logan's phone. “Grrrrrr.”
I opened my eyes slowly as I trailed the bed on the other side trying to look for him, but he wasn't beside me anymore. 'He is gone?’ I pondered.
“Logan?” I sat up slowly. I called his name several times but got no response. The person kept calling nonstop. “It seems urgent,” I said, debating whether I should pick it up or not. “Whatever,” I sneered, ignoring it, thinking the person would stop calling after some time, but the person didn't know when to stop.
“Tsk tsk.” I shook my head as I stretched my hand to pick up the call. “Hel—” I was saying. “Hey, baby!” The fragile voice from the other end cut me off.
“Baby?” I muttered to myself angrily. “I'm back!” The voice screamed again from the other end, shocking me to my bone. I hung up the call immediately.
“Does he have a girlfriend?” I asked no one in particular, and cold sweats beaded on my forehead. I didn't misunderstand him; I was actually his sex partner.
“Scarlett?” Logan entered with a dirty red robe; he looked at my hand as he walked in. “What are you doing with my phone?” He asked, and I couldn't feel any warmth in his voice.
“Your girlfriend called. She said, “She is back.” I said, getting out of his bed. “You gave me permission to touch my phone!” He yelled at me coldly, making me halt my steps.
I looked at him blankly from the bed, observing his every action towards me that moment. That wasn't the gaze that held me last night.
“I tried to look for you, but I couldn't—” I was explaining. “Enough.” He snapped, took his phone, and went to his study room.
'I am nobody to him!’ I couldn't wrap my head around it. The signs were there— small, subtle cracks I kept filling with hope. I heard it myself but still tried to think it was a lie. The way he’d hold me close whenever he was horny but drift just far enough when he was done. The way he kissed me like I meant everything was all just for sex!
I tried to convince myself it was real. That the way his hands moved over my skin meant something more. That the softness in his voice after— those half-whispered words and the way he lingered— were seeds of something lasting. I thought maybe I was getting through. Maybe I was different.
But this morning, I knew.
The way he didn’t look back when he left. No tenderness, no weight in his eyes. Just silence. Like the night before had already been packed away into a place he didn’t plan to return to.
I’m lying here now, sheets still warm, skin still sore from where he touched me like I was his— but I wasn’t. Not really. Never.
I let him see all of me. I gave him more than just my body— I gave him belief. That dangerous kind of belief that blooms in the chest and makes everything feel golden, even when it’s crumbling.
And then… I felt empty. Used, yes— but worse than that… I felt foolish.
I wasn’t special. It was convenient. A passing softness he borrowed for some days he didn’t want to feel alone. And I let him.
That was the part that breaks me. I thought I was a player in his game, but I was just his pawn. ‘I guess it’s time to go home, Scarlett.’
“Scarlett—”