Chapter 195
Nora's eyes were red. She knew Michael wasn't doing this for her, his so-called contract wife, but she still felt touched.
“Should we continue?” she asked, voice small.
"What else? You started this fire yourself, and you're not planning to put it out?" Michael looked at Nora dangerously.
Her pulse hammered. She slid her arms around his neck of her own accord.
“Mr. Smith,” she whispered, “how long is this vacation?”
She wanted more time—just the two of them, away from everything.
Greed, it seemed, had no limit.
She now actually had thoughts of wanting to have Michael all to herself.
Even if just for a short while.
"No rush. After the wedding, I'll take you somewhere." Instead of pressing her down, he reached for a towel, then the blow dryer. He dried her hair with careful strokes, fingers occasionally brushing her scalp.
She hadn’t cut her hair since prison. It had grown fast—almost to her shoulders now.
“Nora.” His voice came out rough. He rubbed her head gently. “Let it grow longer.”
She tilted her face up. “Mr. Smith likes long hair?”
"The first time I saw you, you had long hair." Michael cupped Nora's face.
This face was so small.
"Do you remember when you first saw me?" Michael smiled.
Nora searched her memory. “At the Smith family home?”
Michael gave a low snort, displeased. “Wrong.”
Back then her world had narrowed to James alone. No one else—not even someone as commanding as Michael—had registered.
Even someone as outstanding as Michael.
“Your school,” he corrected. “I was invited to a forum. Saw you there.”
She blinked. Nothing.
"And your ballet solo performance." Michael spoke again.
Her lips parted. He had been in the audience that day?
“You really don’t remember me at all?” Jealousy edged his voice.
“I do,” she lied softly.
In truth, the slate was blank.
“I didn’t dare look at you back then,” she admitted quickly. “You seemed… fierce. Untouchable.”
That time at the Smith family was the first direct contact in Nora's memory.
Michael was really so serious, with a gloomy face and an intimidatingly low pressure around him, as if his face was covered with "strangers keep away, don't talk to me."
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Fierce? And now?”
“Now…” She drew a shaky breath, then rested her head on his shoulder with a secret smile. “Now you’re not.”
Actually, Michael's presence was too overwhelming. She was still scared.
Just not as scared as before.
"Now you're not fierce anymore." Nora smiled secretly, resting her head on Michael's shoulder.
It wasn’t that he had changed. She had.
He leaned close to her ear, dryer humming again. “Little liar.”
Nora’s cheeks burned. She said nothing.
He switched off the dryer, lifted her easily, and carried her back to bed.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice gravel-rough. “What did Savannah teach you?”
“Just…” Words failed her.
After a moment of helpless stammering, she acted instead.
Propping herself up, Nora gathered her courage and pushed Michael down.
Michael wanted to laugh, but afraid Nora would be embarrassed, he just lay down obediently and watched her quietly.
Face flaming, Nora climbed on top.
They stayed frozen like that for several heartbeats.
Michael drew in a slow, controlled breath. Had Savannah taught her how to test a man’s restraint?
“And then?” he prompted, voice thick.
Her mind blanked. Every tip Savannah had whispered vanished.
Her fingers hesitated, then lightly traced his abs. “Need to… work out.”
Before Nora could finish her question, Michael had already pressed her underneath him.
He couldn’t stay passive any longer.
She was too tempting like this.
He'd probably been a bit too rough on her these past few days. Nora fell asleep directly and didn't feel anything at all when Michael carried her to take a shower.
This morning she woke groggy and alone. Panic flickered instantly.
"Mr. Smith?"
"Michael?"
Nora was a bit scared.
The empty hotel room felt too large.
Six years ago waking up alone had meant abandonment. The fear still lingered.
She was afraid that when Michael got tired of her, had enough, he would abandon her.
Nervously getting out of bed, Nora wanted to find Michael. Just as she ran to the living room, she saw Michael coming in, covered in sweat—clearly he'd been working out.
“You…” Her voice cracked. “Where did you go?”
He saw the redness in her eyes; something in his chest tightened.
He’d meant to let her sleep longer.
“Didn’t you want to know how abs are made?” He peeled off the damp shirt. Muscles stood out sharply, skin still flushed.
Nora looked away fast. The air between them crackled.
Michael cornered Nora, "Just now when you couldn't see me, you were scared?"
She nodded.
“Next time you come with me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. He was dangerously seductive.
He opened his mouth to tease further—The doorbell interrupted.
The hotel manager delivered formal wear and breakfast with a polite.
"Sir, Madam." The manager smiled as he served them.
Nora’s ears flamed at the title.
Madam?
This form of address...
Well, they were abroad where few people knew them.
Michael rubbed her head. “It’s for the wedding. Try the dress on. See if it fits. I’m showering.” Nora stared at the white gown."You want me there with you?”
"What else? Leave you waiting in the hotel? Won't you cry?" Michael comfortingly rubbed Nora's head, "Go try on the dress to see if it fits. I'm going to take a shower."
When he emerged from the shower, she was struggling with the back zipper.
High-end custom piece. Even after five years out of society, she recognized the quality—and the price. Easily two hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more.
This one dress probably cost over two hundred thousand dollars, maybe even more.
Nora thought the dress was too precious and was afraid of damaging it.
“Fit okay?” Michael crossed the room, drew the zipper up smoothly, then held her from behind. Their reflection stared back.
He had to admit it: she was stunning.
Even five years in prison couldn't hide her own radiance.
Only the scars from her suicide attempt on her arms were shocking to see.
Nora instinctively covered one wrist.
Michael’s gaze darkened as it lingered on the scars.
"Mr. Smith, how did you know my size?" Nora changed the subject.
“What do you think?” He pinched her waist lightly.
Her face heated again. She dropped her eyes.
“Wedding calls for white formal wear.” He caught her wrist, thumb brushing the scars. “What exactly are we?”
Nora tensed, unsure.
"Superior and subordinate."
"We got a marriage certificate." Michael reminded Nora.
Nora lowered her head and acknowledged it.
"So, I won't let anyone hurt you again, including yourself." Michael wrapped a silk scarf around Nora's wrist, covering those hideous and ugly scars, "Remember that?"