Chapter 3
759 Words
The brief moment of joy the wine had brought me faded, replaced by the all-too-familiar weight of disappointment.
I sighed, turning my head away, my eyes wandering aimlessly across the restaurant—until they landed on someone.
A man, seated diagonally behind us.
He wore a tailored gray suit, effortlessly refined, his chestnut-brown hair styled with precise elegance. He radiated a commanding presence—one that drew attention effortlessly.
As if sensing my gaze, he lifted his whiskey glass, raising a brow as he silently toasted in my direction.
My heartbeat skipped.
What’s happening to me? Why does he feel so… powerful?
For the briefest moment, our eyes locked, and something unfamiliar stirred inside me. But Jimmy was sitting right in front of me, so I quickly looked away, forcing myself to focus on my plate.
Jimmy remained glued to his phone, barely speaking as I silently nursed my wine, taking slow sips as I picked at my food.
"The portions are too small," he grumbled eventually. "And it’s so damn expensive."
I chuckled lightly, teasing, "Maybe by the end of this trip, you’ll be craving food court meals."
"I already miss the meals," Jimmy sighed. "At least at a food court, I’d get my money’s worth." He shook his head and returned to his phone, scrolling through messages.
After dinner, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the front desk.
"I saw in the work group chat that the guys had found a gaming room here," he said. "It actually has gaming consoles! I need to ask about it!"
The receptionist confirmed that the resort did, in fact, have a gaming lounge. Jimmy's face lit up.
"Lilith, I beg you," he said dramatically. "Tomorrow, I’m playing games all day. This place is so boring—what else is there to do besides eat and sleep?"
I felt my mood plummet.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him how ridiculous he sounded—how he was wasting the opportunity to enjoy something together. But I didn’t.
Because deep down, I already knew the truth.
We had no shared interests. He had always hated hot springs, complaining that they made him too warm. And I had no power over what he wanted to do.
So, as always, I said nothing.
And my disappointment sank deeper.
Back in the room, Jimmy flopped onto the bed, immediately absorbed in his mobile game. I ignored his childish behavior, pushing open the balcony doors and stepping onto the terrace to take in the view.
The crisp night air kissed my skin as I leaned against the railing, gazing at the twinkling lights in the distance. Just then, my eyes caught a glow from the neighboring suite—someone had turned on their lights.
Curiosity got the better of me.
I took a step forward, trying to see more clearly, but a realization hit me—I was dangerously close to spying on a stranger.
Embarrassed, I quickly stepped back, only to miscalculate my footing. The smooth, uneven pebbles beneath me shifted, and I lurched forward.
A sharp tug at my neck halted my fall.
Panic flared through me—I realized the halter strap of my dress had caught on the dense hedge wall between the terraces. My breath hitched as I struggled to free myself, my fingers fumbling with the delicate fabric.
Then, suddenly, a shadow loomed over me.
I gasped, heart pounding, and looked up.
It was him.
The man from the restaurant.
Gone was his suit jacket—he must have removed it after dinner. His crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of sculpted muscle beneath.
He took a step forward, his deep-set eyes flickering with intrigue as he studied my predicament. I remained frozen, caught between embarrassment and something much more dangerous.
He leaned down, extending a strong hand to me.
“Are you alright, Madam?” His voice was smooth, deep—almost amused.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
Before I could gather myself, his lips curved into a slow, teasing smile.
“If you wanted to watch me bathe,” he murmured, “you could have just asked. No need to make such a scene.”
Heat flooded my face.
I tried to stand, desperate to regain some dignity, but the moment I moved, I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.
Oh no.
I clutched my chest, but my deep cleavage was impossible to hide. The soft, round fullness of my breasts spilled free.
- Writer
