Chapter 55 She Took Off Her Clothes

Chapter 55 She Took Off Her Clothes

Monica froze mid-step. On her shoulders was the weight of his trench coat, at her nose was his crisp, familiar scent. That warmth seeped through the fabric, almost burning her entire being.

She instinctively clutched the hem of the coat, as if trying to grasp that unreal warmth.

"Too cold to speak up?" Shane walked in front of her, brows furrowed, his tone as blunt as always.

Monica lowered her eyes, avoiding his searching gaze, her voice muffled: "I'm not cold."

This side of him made the bitterness in her heart surge even more.

She couldn't help but look up, glancing toward where that young girl had disappeared, asking with feigned casualness: "That girl just now was pretty lively."

Shane's gaze lingered on her face for a second, immediately catching that fleeting emotion in her eyes.

He didn't answer. Instead, he suddenly stepped forward, trapping her between himself and a tree behind her decorated with colorful lights.

"What?" He leaned down slightly, his tall figure completely enveloping her. Those deep eyes gleamed with amusement, locked onto her without blinking. "Jealous?"

His warm breath brushed against her cheek. Monica's heartbeat skipped, and she reflexively retorted: "What do I have to be jealous about? It's none of my business."

Her words were sharp, but her eyes were evasive. This stubborn-mouthed, soft-hearted look made the smile in Shane's eyes deepen.

"None of your business?" He let out a low laugh, the vibration from his chest traveling clearly through the small distance between them. "Then why are you bitter?"

Monica's thoughts exposed by his words, her cheeks instantly burned. She turned her face away, forcing herself to save face, muttering insincerely: "I just think all men like them young and pretty."

The words seemed to be about others, yet also about herself.

The smile on Shane's face faded. He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, his tone carrying a hint of coldness: "Is that so?"

He stared at her, unknown emotions churning in his eyes, suddenly asking back: "What about you, Monica? Do you like them young?"

This question was like a stone thrown into the heart of a lake, instantly shattering all her pretenses.

Did she like them young?

She used to—that cold, proud boy Shane was her only fantasy throughout her entire youth.

But now, what she liked was the man before her—mature, domineering, who had returned bearing scars.

She couldn't answer.

Watching her dazed and flustered expression, a triumphant smile flashed through Shane's eyes.

He released his hand, watching her leisurely.

Monica recoiled as if burned, her heart in chaos. She didn't dare look at those eyes that seemed to see through everything. Dropping a line—"I... I need to use the restroom"—she fled in panic.

Shane stood in place, watching her hurried figure disappear into the crowd. The curve of his lips, suppressed for so long, finally lifted uncontrollably.

After that night, their relationship seemed to return to some delicate balance point.

Shane still got up early to make breakfast, drove her to work, and would wait for her to come home in the evening with tacit understanding.

And every night before bed, applying medicine for her became a fixed routine.

Monica gradually got used to this way of being together, even having the illusion that they'd returned to many years ago, to those days when they still lived together.

Back then, she was always bumping into things, and he was always the one who complained about her clumsiness while patiently treating her wounds.

This evening, after showering, Monica curled up on the sofa in a silk slip nightgown, watching a movie.

Shane came over with ointment and cotton swabs, sitting down on the carpet beside her, his tone flat as he instructed: "Come here, time for medicine."

Monica responded with an "oh," naturally shifting her body, preparing to lift her dress like the previous days to let him apply the medicine.

But just as her hand touched the hem, she suddenly remembered something and paused.

Whatever, she'd have to get used to it sooner or later anyway.

She steeled herself and, right in front of him, pulled the slip nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.

Beneath the nightgown was bare skin, wearing nothing.

Shane was looking down, unscrewing the ointment cap. Hearing the rustle of fabric, he instinctively looked up to see this scene.

She was facing him sideways, long hair draped over her shoulders, covering most of the view. But from his angle, he could see her delicate, beautiful shoulder blades and that impossibly slender waist.

Under the light, her skin was white as the finest jade, so smooth it seemed to glow.

Shane's movements froze abruptly, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily.

His fingers unscrewing the ointment tightened unconsciously, nearly crushing the small tube.

Monica was completely oblivious. She even adjusted her position, lying openly on the sofa, leaving him only her bare back, her voice carrying a hint of urging: "Hurry up, I'm sleepy."

This thoughtless remark, combined with her completely unguarded posture, was like a fuse, instantly igniting Shane's long-suppressed desire.

He took a deep breath, forcibly tearing his gaze away from her graceful curves.

It took all his self-control to resist the impulse to flip her over and crush her into his arms.

He set the ointment down heavily on the table with a dull thud.

Monica was startled by the sound and looked back at him, confused: "What's wrong?"

Shane's expression was dark enough to drip water. He looked down at her, his eyes churning with suppressed, inky darkness, his voice deep and hoarse, as if squeezed through clenched teeth.

"Monica," he said through gritted teeth, word by word, "don't push it."

Monica was bewildered by his sudden anger. She blinked blankly, not understanding what she'd done to upset him again.

Not until her gaze followed his tense jawline downward and landed on her own naked body did the string in her mind snap with a resounding "boom."

What... what had she just done?

She'd just taken off her clothes right in front of him!

Belated shame flooded over her like a tide. Monica's face instantly turned red enough to bleed. She scrambled to grab the nightgown she'd tossed aside, stammering apologies: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to, I forgot..."

She was just used to it—used to being uninhibited around him—but forgot he was a normal man, forgot about the five-year chasm between them.

Watching her flustered and embarrassed state, the desire and anger in Shane's eyes intertwined, ultimately transforming into a helpless sigh.