She Is the True Heiress All Along

Every morning when I wake up and see such a handsome face...it feels like winning the lottery. He lies beside me, breathing steadily. Sharp brows, a straight nose, a jawline sculpted by light itself. When his eyes close, there's this unexpected softness that makes my chest tighten. The morning sun slants through the curtains, painting his features, tracing his strong, magnetic silhouette. Broad shoulders, muscles hidden beneath the sheets—restrained power, like a predator waiting silently. It's more than just handsome. It's dangerous, alluring, impossible to look away. He does nothing, yet my heart pounds like a drum. A surge of pride fills me. I've always had only two standards when choosing a man: either he's breathtakingly handsome or unbearably sexy. I lean in, brushing my lips against his. Electricity sparks. All fatigue and worry vanish. I, someone who usually doesn't lift a finger in the morning, want to make him breakfast. But before I can move, his hands wrap around my waist, holding me firmly. In the next second, I'm pressed against the mattress, his body almost entirely on me. My breath catches, my heartbeat accelerates. Half-awake, his eyes open slightly, radiating a commanding presence. His deep, husky morning voice brushes against my ear—every word magnetic, every nerve taut. "So early...trying to tempt me? Hmm." His voice is teasing, sly, and intoxicating. His chest presses against me, warmth searing through every layer of clothing. Foreheads brush, breaths hitch and mingle, hearts pounding in a fevered rhythm. The outside world disappears, leaving only the two of us. Then his lips claim mine. Soft at first...gentle, shallow kisses that quickly deepen. His tongue slides against mine, exploring, teasing, igniting a wildfire of desire that leaves me breathless. My body arches instinctively, pressing closer, every nerve on fire. Hands roam over his shoulders, down his back, tracing the contours of his chest, tugging him closer. Muscles tense and flex beneath my touch, every movement synchronized with mine, teasing, demanding, intoxicating. He leans closer, claiming every inch of me. Heat, solidity, irresistible closeness. "I want you." His low, husky voice carries remnants of sleep and raw desire, as if he could swallow me whole. Reason melts. I reach for the drawer...empty. "We're out of protection," I stammer. "Then we don't need it," he says, calm yet commanding, pressing my hand back onto the sheet. "It's not safe...I could...get pregnant." His lips trail from my jaw to my collarbone, pausing at the rise of my chest. His skilled tongue teases; his fingers glide along my spine, sending shivers through every nerve. "Then we'll keep it," he murmurs softly. His words strike me like a hammer. He lifts my leg, placing it over his waist, pressing me tightly. Skin to skin, scorching and suffocatingly close. Below, his presence presses against my most sensitive spot, poised, waiting. One nod, one small move, and defenses crumble. "Wait...hmm…" I murmur, biting back a moan, voice trembling, soft. "I...I won't...wear a wedding dress...pregnant...we...wait...until after the wedding…" He freezes—not just pausing, but the switch flips, all lingering intimacy instantly vanishes. I lift my hand, caressing his cheek, giving him a light kiss. "Let's wait until after the wedding to have children, okay?" His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. I watch the familiar, handsome features shift from fiery passion to calm composure. That suffocating closeness feels like a fleeting dream. He rises, reaching for the shirt on the chair. He buttons it calmly, glances at me, and leans down to give a light, brief kiss. "I have a meeting this morning," he says. "I have to go." I blink, a strange feeling stirring. The rush of earlier passion, abruptly interrupted. I should feel relief that he respects me—but something feels off. "Now...so early?" I sit up, the sheet slipping to my waist. "I want to make breakfast for you." He shakes his head, straightening up. "No need," he says, his posture exuding distance I can't quite place. "The butler will handle everything. Car, breakfast—you don't need to lift a finger." Perfectly orderly, voice as gentle as ever...yet the unease lingers. I whisper, "Okay…" He says nothing more, checks his phone, and heads toward the door. The soft click marks a clear boundary in the room. I wrap myself in the blanket, unease returning. His sudden shift...from overwhelming passion to rational distance. Could a single sentence of mine have such power? Maybe it's the first time I've rejected him in bed—so it feels strange. Thinking of our wedding turns unease into sweetness. Invitations, dates, venue—all ready. Engagement next week, the wedding after I graduate. Then a thought flashes, thrilling me: -Today. Today, he's going to propose. He hasn't said it, but I know. My mother hinted at it. Perhaps...he's rushing the preparations, which is why he left in a hurry. I laugh at myself for overthinking. I quickly wash my face, do skincare, apply makeup, and carefully choose my favorite dress. In the mirror, I shine. Confident. Excited. Today...will be unforgettable. --- I first met Owen at his college graduation. Sunlight poured into the auditorium, warm and golden, thunderous applause echoing around. As a student representative, he walked onto the stage. Under the spotlight, he wasn't just standing—he commanded everything. Sharp, natural features; tall, resolute posture. His voice was steady, strong, confident—precise enough to impress even the harshest professors. Sitting in the crowd, I felt the whole world existed for him alone. Time slowed, voices faded. Nothing mattered but Owen. To this fangirl, he was perfection—the most handsome, magnetic man I had ever seen. Later, I learned more: campus heartthrob, a successful entrepreneur even during college, one of the youngest rising stars in wealth and influence by graduation. Appearance, talent, charm—he had it all, a flawless balance. At the graduation party, emboldened by alcohol and courage, I did something daring—I challenged him to a game of pool. The bet was simple: if I won, he had to be my boyfriend. He said I was unreasonable—but he agreed. Of course, I won. Just like that, everything changed. That bold, almost reckless gamble sparked a year of unforgettable magic. We laughed until we cried, teased each other mercilessly, and even our petty arguments ended with kisses that made my heart race. Every memory of those two years shone like a warm golden light in my mind. Now, my own graduation is near. I've told my parents about our relationship. My father leads a historic, prestigious family; my mother comes from the nobility. His family wields influence in politics and business. By every measure, we are a perfect match. Both families quickly agreed to our engagement. Everyone says we are made for each other. I believe it too.