Chapter 118 Duration, Frequency
After hearing him out, Scarlett raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm just trying to make it clear that I have no interest in getting involved in someone else's relationship or marriage."
Ambrose seized the opening, twisting her words to his advantage. "So, I'll take that as a yes to my proposal." He paused, then added with a glint in his eye, "I'll be your boy toy?"
Scarlett was speechless. How desperate was this man to be her kept man?
"I don't need a boy toy," she retorted. "I prefer a relationship of equals."
The moment the words left her mouth, Ambrose's face lit up. "Equals, I like that. You have needs, I have needs. Perfectly equal."
Scarlett fell silent.
Why did that sound so clinical coming from him?
Before she could dissect the weirdness, she realized she'd walked right into his trap. Frowning, she tried to backtrack. "I haven't actually agreed to anything yet."
Ambrose suddenly reached out, his hands gripping her shoulders, his voice laced with an almost frantic energy. "What is there to even consider? We've had a trial run, and we were both satisfied on all fronts."
Scarlett swatted his hands away, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a cool, appraising look. "That was you being satisfied."
His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "You weren't? Was it not long enough? Not frequent enough?"
Scarlett glared at him, utterly incredulous. How could he even say the words "not long enough"? Did he have amnesia? Wasn't she the one practically begging him to stop every single time?
She could barely handle one round with him, and he was talking about frequency?
She was looking for someone to satisfy a physical need, not someone to end her life.
He took another step closer, the picture of a man who genuinely didn't know what he'd done wrong. "Tell me what you weren't happy with. I'll fix it."
In that moment, all traces of his earlier withdrawn, self-pitying demeanor had vanished. Scarlett felt a surge of irritation, convinced he had faked the whole sad-puppy act just to make her feel guilty. Furious, she spun on her heel and started to walk away.
"Scarlett!" Ambrose scrambled after her. "You still haven't told me what I did wrong!"
Scarlett stopped at her bedroom door, turning to face him. "You can think about it yourself. If you can't figure it out, then there's nothing to talk about."
Without another word, she opened her door, stepped inside, and shut it firmly behind her, a series of fluid motions that left him no room to protest.
Ambrose stared at the closed door, the desperate, confused expression melting away from his face. A slow, triumphant smile curved his lips.
Thank God she was a soft touch. Otherwise, who knew how long it would take for her to forgive him?
After a hot shower, Scarlett climbed into bed, ready for sleep. Her phone buzzed with a notification. Picking it up, she saw a message from Ambrose and opened it.
[I've been doing some serious soul-searching, but I'm still drawing a blank. Can you give me a hint? Which part was the problem?] The text was followed by a pathetic-looking, teary-eyed emoji.
A small smile tugged at her lips. So, he knew how to use memes.
She thought for a moment before typing a one-word reply. [Duration.]
The response was almost instantaneous. [Too long?]
[It felt like you were deliberately torturing me.]
[That's called spicing things up. If you don't like it, I can try other methods.]
Even though the topic made her cheeks burn, Scarlett found herself, for some inexplicable reason, actually engaging. [What kind of methods?]
[Hard to describe in a text. Better to show you in practice.]
Two seconds later, another message popped up. [How about we try one tonight?]
The man was shameless. He hadn't even gotten a "yes" and he was already laying his traps. She shot back a quick reply: [In your dreams.]
Just as she put her phone down, a knock sounded at her door. She squeezed her eyes shut, then got out of bed and padded toward the entrance. "I'm going to sleep. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."
"Just open the door for a second."
Ambrose's voice, low and persuasive, filtered through the wood. With a sigh, Scarlett unlocked it.
He was standing there, fresh from a shower, clad in a silk robe. The lapels were parted just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of his solid, sculpted chest.
Scarlett averted her gaze, her tone frosty. "What is it?"
He didn't speak. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and heavy with a raw, undisguised desire. Then, with an utter lack of shame, he said, "It's been seven days since we last had sex."
Heat flooded Scarlett's face. She had never met a man with such a high sex drive, one who kept a running tally.
"Well, I don't want to. Go back to your room. I need to sleep."
She tried to close the door.
Ambrose quickly blocked it with his foot, his expression shifting into that pitiful, kicked-puppy look again. "You just said we're equals. Well, right now, I want to."
"Ambrose, I haven't even agreed to your terms, and you're already trying to pull this?"
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. "I know you'll say yes eventually. Just take pity on me."
Her expression hardened. "Are you going back to your room or not?"
Seeing her teetering on the edge of genuine anger, Ambrose knew not to push his luck. He let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. I'll go."
With that, he turned, his shoulders slumped in a picture of dejection. He walked out of her room and paused by his own bedroom door for a half a minute, as if waiting for her to call him back. When silence was his only answer, he finally went inside and closed his door.
Scarlett released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, shut her own door, and returned to bed.
But sleep wouldn't come. Her mind kept replaying Ambrose's reactions, his expressions.
He was domineering with everyone, including her. But it was different. When she had cried, he had actually backed down.
That was a world away from Wesley. She had shed countless tears for Wesley, and he had never once softened. If anything, her pain seemed to fuel his cruelty. But Ambrose wasn't like that.
When he realized he'd hurt her, he apologized.
Just now, he had already been inside her room, but one sharp word from her had sent him retreating. It showed that, on some fundamental level, he respected her.
His offer to be her "boy toy"—that was for her pride, wasn't it?
A man like him, the CEO of the Boleyn Group, would never be someone's kept man. He knew he had wounded her with his earlier stunt, so he had proposed the one thing that would put her back in the position of power.
He might seem like a bad boy, but his character wasn't actually bad at all.
An arrangement as equals… it might work.
She wasn't naive enough to think they had a future. A man of his status, the Boleyn family would never approve of him marrying a divorced woman with a child.
But even if she wanted to break free of him now, it was impossible. He wouldn't allow it. And more importantly, he was helping her find her son. She couldn't afford to burn that bridge.
So, an equal partnership would have to do. When he eventually grew tired of her, he would be the one to end it. She wouldn't even have to ask.
As she came to this conclusion, the heavy weight on her chest finally lifted. Soon after, she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning, Scarlett emerged from her bedroom feeling refreshed and clear-headed. She happened to run into Ambrose, who was just leaving his own room. He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes, and he moved with a weary listlessness.
Scarlett paused, then said, "You look like you didn't sleep well. You should go back to bed."
He shot her a resentful look. "What's the point? My dreams were filled with you. I could see you, but I couldn't have you. It was torture."