Married to the Cold CEO

Chapter Six

Outside the door, Maxwell answered his phone in a tone as cold as steel, “Hello?”

“Stone, please don’t marry someone else—just wait for me a little longer, okay?” Song’s voice trembled through the line, clearly marked by tears.

“It’s too late!” Maxwell snapped, his tone merciless.

Stung, Song’s voice rose in anger, mixed with sobs: “Maxwell, don’t regret this! I’ll never come back in this lifetime!”

Maxwell’s face hardened further; without a word, he hung up. Regret? Ha—Maxwell had no room for that in his vocabulary.

He turned sharply, flung open the door, and strode briskly toward Scarlett, who stood silently, lost in her own thoughts. In a deep, measured tone he asked, “Are you ready?”

Scarlett, knowing exactly what he meant—the moment they had been preparing for—nodded, “Yes.”

Without hesitation, Maxwell swept her into his arms, carrying her with firm determination toward the king-size bed, whose surface was artfully scattered with crimson rose petals. As he set her down, a gentle cascade of petals fluttered around them, filling the room with a heady scent of roses and promise.

Scarlett’s heart pounded in her chest. Nerves and anticipation mixed within her; she feared that Maxwell might see her hesitation and reject her. So, she closed her eyes and clung to him with all her might. Originally, Maxwell had not planned to rush into such intimacy—the earlier conversation had been a test of her resolve—but Song’s desperate words had cemented his decision. Tonight, there would be no looking back.

Maxwell leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive skin of her earlobe with a soft, deliberate kiss. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, sparkled with a hint of mischief as he murmured, “Was this your first time?”

Scarlett’s face burned even deeper as she tilted her head, her voice barely audible, “Yes…”

Raising an eyebrow, Maxwell set aside the memory of Song’s call and, with a playful lilt in his otherwise cool tone, asked, “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Scarlett’s blush deepened, and she hesitated before replying, “How could I ever be the one to volunteer such a thing?”

Maxwell paused, his usually impassive expression softening ever so slightly at her words. Though he couldn’t articulate it, he understood that some moments were too intimate to be openly discussed. In this shared silence, he assumed that anyone with even a modicum of sense would know exactly what was meant.

With a sudden buoyancy, he rose and said, “I’m going to take a shower first!”

Scarlett looked surprised, her cheeks still aflame, and asked with a nervous quiver, “Aren’t we... not going to continue?”

Maxwell turned, his gaze steady and reassuring as he replied, “I must give you time to prepare properly. We mustn’t rush these moments.”

For a fleeting second, an unexpected tenderness softened his stern demeanor, and Scarlett’s heart fluttered. In that quiet promise, she sensed his care—even amid the intensity of their new union.

The rest of the night unfolded with a delicate interplay of passion and hesitation. The soft lighting, the gentle rustle of rose petals, and the whispered words between them created an atmosphere both sensual and tender. Though their bodies moved slowly, every touch spoke volumes of the commitment they had sealed that day—a commitment driven as much by revenge and necessity as by a deep, if conflicted, connection.

The next morning, when Scarlett awoke, Maxwell was already up. After washing her face, she stepped out only to find him in the living room, intently watching the financial news.

He looked up as she emerged and said, “Come have breakfast. After that, I’ll drive you to the office.”

Scarlett nodded, and together they shared a silent breakfast—Maxwell uttering not a single word throughout the meal.

Once breakfast was finished, Maxwell drove Scarlett to her office and then departed.

Determined to further her plan for revenge, Scarlett worked tirelessly in the design department as soon as she arrived. At lunch, she barely touched her food, her focus entirely on her work.

By 3:30 in the afternoon, she had finally completed a new design, quickly backing up the design file on her computer. Then, she locked away the original and placed the backup design file on her desk before heading out.

When Scarlett returned, she discovered Tiffany intently examining the backup design file, her eyes shining with excitement. Scarlett couldn’t help but smirk inwardly; she knew all too well that Tiffany would always try to claim credit if her design files were superior.

Tiffany glanced over with a bright smile, “Sis, is this your new design file?”

Scarlett murmured a quiet “Mm-hmm.”

Tiffany beamed, “It’s truly brilliant—the design is so intricate. I’m sure the final product will be amazing!” as though the work were entirely her own.

Scarlett’s tone turned cool as she asked, “Do you need anything else?”

Tiffany quickly shook her head with an eager smile, “No, that’s it!”

Barely had Tiffany left when Scarlett’s phone rang—it was Alex. “Scarlett, come to my office right away!” his voice ordered.