Chapter 11 Four Nights in One
Blair had known for two years that Daniel rarely came home, yet she still forced bitter herbal concoctions down Scarlett's throat—brews meant to "nourish fertility." Scarlett knew it was nothing but deliberate torment.
Scarlett loved Daniel. She had wanted to make their marriage work, to keep peace with Blair, and so she endured it all in silence.
Now Daniel was the one being served a steaming bowl of soup. Scarlett felt no sympathy.
She turned her head away, pretending she hadn't seen a thing.
Daniel immediately caught Magnolia's look—one that said, without words, "Useless."
He gave a short laugh. "Alright, Grandma, I'll drink it. Every drop. I wouldn't waste your effort."
The words were aimed at Magnolia, but his eyes never left Scarlett. His tone sharpened ever so slightly, as if the message carried a hidden edge.
Scarlett felt her scalp prickle under his gaze. In that instant, she thought Daniel and Blair truly were mother and son—cut from the same cloth.
Under the weight of both their eyes, Scarlett's dinner was an exercise in misery. Each bite turned to ash in her mouth.
Later that night, Daniel pushed open the bedroom door and found Scarlett standing in front of the wardrobe.
She slammed the door shut instantly, her expression startled, almost guilty.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. He crossed the room in two strides. "Hiding a lover in there?"
He reached for the handle, but Scarlett's hand shot out, pressing it shut. "Don't open it!"
Her reaction only made it seem more like she was hiding someone.
Daniel applied a little pressure, and her resistance was laughably weak. The door swung open to reveal… not a man, but a row of brightly colored lingerie, silky nightgowns, and even a few pieces of risqué costume wear.
Scarlett's cheeks flushed crimson. "They're not mine!"
She remembered that there had been plenty of her own clothes at The Wilson Mansion. She hadn't expected that, upon returning, all her proper clothing would be gone.
She reached to close the door again, but Daniel braced it open.
"So you're planning to step out of the shower naked? Or should I deliver your clothes while you're dripping wet? Quite the little scheme."
Scarlett gave him a flat look. "I'll go find my old clothes."
She had never realized just how inventive Daniel's imagination could be.
His hand came down on her shoulder. "Naïve. You really think you'll find them?"
The clothes were almost certainly chosen by Magnolia. Every detail had been arranged. There was no way she'd allow Scarlett to find anything "decent."
Scarlett glared at him, frustration simmering.
He must have guessed her thoughts, because his handsome features cooled, his dark eyes flat and unreadable. His lips curved in a faint, cold smile. "Pick whatever you want. Makes no difference to me."
The message was clear: he had no interest in her.
Scarlett grabbed the most modest-looking garment she could find. "First time I've seen someone manage to say ‘I'm blind' in such a roundabout way."
She shoved past him and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to echo.
When she emerged, dressed and towel-dried, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned. The "modest" garment was, in fact, a nurse's uniform.
Still, it covered everything that needed covering. And Daniel didn't like her anyway. What was there to fear?
She repeated to herself three times: Daniel is uninterested… Daniel is uninterested… Daniel is uninterested. A wave of false security washed over her, and she stepped out.
Daniel was leaning against the headboard, tablet in hand, scrolling through emails. His gaze flicked up, and the bones along his fingers tightened subtly.
The nurse's uniform covered her torso, but it clung close, tracing every line of her waist. The skirt was scandalously short. Scarlett's beauty was the kind that could strike without warning—golden hair, red lips, features sharp yet luminous, a dancer's body honed over years, clean and poised.
In that uniform, she was lethal.
Daniel's throat burned. His Adam's apple bobbed twice before he dragged his gaze away.
He set the tablet aside. "I'll shower. You can sleep."
Scarlett had braced herself mentally, but she still didn't dare meet his eyes. By the time she looked up, he was already brushing past her, expression unreadable, disappearing into the bathroom.
Uninterested? More like incapable.
Outside, thunder rolled. Scarlett hurried to the bed, flipped back the covers, and slid inside.
In the bathroom, steam swirled thickly around Daniel. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the scent of gardenia drifted through the mist, winding its way into his lungs.
Scarlett always used gardenia-scented body wash. The fragrance was delicate… and dangerously alluring.
Daniel's head snapped up. Damn it. Whatever Magnolia had put in that soup, it was working—his nose was bleeding like he'd contracted some terminal illness.
Scarlett, sprawled in bed, picked up her phone. Remembering that William's room was being cleaned, she idly searched for his name.
The internet exploded with headlines:
#Arcturus's Racing Prodigy
#The First F1 Driver's Dazzling Career
#The Most Promising Racer
#At 23, William Scores a Historic Point in His F1 Debut, Now Returning Home
Scarlett's lips curved upward. Her eyes shone—pride, joy, envy, and longing all tangled together.
The sound of water stopped. She quickly flipped her phone face-down on the nightstand, pulled the covers up, and feigned sleep.
Daniel, towel in hand, walked toward the bed. He caught the glow from her phone and picked it up, intending to switch it off.
The open webpage froze him in place.
His gaze shifted to Scarlett, eyes closed tight, her breathing even. His expression was unreadable.
Scarlett's body went rigid. She was sure he knew she was faking. She was about to open her eyes when he set the phone down without comment.
He moved toward the balcony. Through her lashes, she saw his silhouette leaning against the railing, wind whipping his robe open. A faint red glimmer shone between his fingers.
Smoking, in a thunderstorm. His habit was getting worse.
She thought nothing more of it, closing her eyes. She hadn't slept well in days, and after a full day of classes, exhaustion pulled her under.
The mattress dipped behind her. She barely noticed.
After two years of marriage, even when Daniel came home, intimacy was rare—and he always retreated to another room afterward.
Tonight, Magnolia had insisted they share a bed. Scarlett knew better than to expect anything else.
But just as sleep began to claim her, Daniel's arm slid around her waist from behind, firm and unyielding. With a gentle tug, he drew her back into his warmth.
Through the thin fabric, she felt the heat of his body, the solid planes of muscle across his chest and abdomen.
He had shed his robe.
His breath was low and rough against her ear. "Sleeping?"
Thunder cracked again outside, wind rattling the windows. Inside, the temperature climbed.
Scarlett's eyes flew open. Her heart pounded in time with the storm.
Before she could speak, Daniel pressed closer.
Her mind went blank. "Daniel, you…" Her voice trembled.
His lips brushed the tender skin behind her ear. "Why so tense?"
She tilted her head away from his heat. "What are you doing?"
The movement was small, almost shy—like a cat refusing to be petted.
His mouth moved against her skin, voice dark and rough. "When they poured me that tonic, you didn't wonder what Grandma had in mind?"
Scarlett bristled. "I knew you weren't interested in me. That's why I didn't stop them."
In their first year of marriage, he hadn't touched her. She had tried everything—shameless tricks, flirtations, even parading in a bikini in front of him. He'd looked right through her. Once, she'd fallen into his arms, towel slipping away, bare against him—he'd only asked if she needed a glass of ice water.
Other men, once they'd had a taste, would crave more. He, after that first time, had barely approached her again. If not for the rare occasions when he lasted far longer than normal, she would have suspected he was physically incapable.
With his self-control, even medicine couldn't break him. Magnolia's tonic was laughable.
"I'd be wasting your faith in me if I didn't do something about it."
His words fell, and he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. The scent of him—raw, masculine—closed in around her.
Scarlett's hands flew up. "No! I don't want this!"
"No? Weren't you the one complaining I didn't satisfy you? Filing for divorce? We'll make up for lost time. Four times tonight—how's that?"
His hands tore at her collar.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating her face—small, delicate, drained of color. Her wide eyes shimmered, pleading, frightened.
She truly didn't want this.