I Hated Him, Now I Cherish Him

Chapter 2

Delilah stood rooted to the spot, words failing her.

In her past life, she had been a spoiled, reckless brat, hurling threats of divorce and remarriage at him like knives, slowly wearing down his patience, stabbing at his pride.

Now, with him calling her out right to her face, she didn't have a shred of defense left to muster.

Before she could get a word out, Gavin had already bent down, his teeth grazing her earlobe in a soft, teasing bite.

A wave of heat washed over her, and Delilah melted, every last ounce of strength drained from her body in an instant, leaving her limp as a ragdoll.

The man who had been all ice and distance just moments ago now pressed his lips to her ear, his voice a low, husky rasp dripping with deliberate mockery.

"So, tonight... do you want me to be gentle, or rough?"

She didn't even get a chance to answer before his scorching heat enveloped her, sweeping through the darkness and consuming the night.

A night of tangled, relentless passion, and then the storm finally stilled.

Outside, the violent downpour had long ceased, the sky blushing with the faintest strokes of dawn.

As the warmth of their intimacy faded, Gavin slipped out of bed. With practiced ease, he fished a small pill from the organizer on the nightstand and held it out to her.

His voice still carried the rough edges of lingering hoarseness, but his tone was flat, utterly devoid of emotion.

"Take the medicine."

Delilah's gaze dropped to that tiny white tablet, and her heart plummeted, a heavy, silent thud.

It was the same emergency contraceptive she had once ordered her private physician to prepare.

In her former life, she had detested Gavin with every fiber of her being. She recoiled from any tie to him, and above all else, she absolutely refused to bear his child. So after every single time, she had forced him to bring her the pill and watch her swallow it.

But now, everything is different.

Delilah gently pushed his hand away, her voice soft but laced with steely resolve.

"I won't take this anymore. Not ever again."

Gavin's hand jerked to a halt in midair. A flicker of surprise darted through his eyes, then his expression hardened into an even colder, darker mask.

He pressed the pill back toward her lips, his tone so icy it cut through the air.

"If you don't take it, I can't rest easy."

Those seven simple words slammed into Delilah's heart like a jagged chunk of ice, instantly freezing every last flicker of hope.

She stared dazedly at the man before her, a thousand tiny needles pricking at her chest.

He was telling her, plain as day, that he wanted no ties with her, no child between them, not a single shred of connection.

Only then did she fully awaken to reality.

It had never been a one-sided loathing and estrangement. Gavin detested her just as fiercely, resisting her at every turn.

Their marriage was nothing but a frigid corporate merger. Outside the fleeting warmth of their bed, they were worlds apart, clashing values, opposing tastes, never clicking on any level.

How could he ever possibly like her?

A wave of bitter resentment and hurt crashed over her, squeezing the air from her lungs.

Delilah pressed her lips into a thin line, the spark in her eyes fading to a dull flicker.

Without a word, she lifted her hand, accepted the pill, and meekly swallowed it down.

Even as her heart shattered into a million pieces, she clung desperately to a fragile thread of hope.

It was okay.

In her past life, she had been the one at fault. In this life, she'd be good to him, and eventually, she'd thaw that icy heart of his and win him back.

The next morning.

Gavin left early for a meeting at the group headquarters.

Desperate to melt the frost between them, Delilah racked her brain for a solution. Finally, she decided to roll up her sleeves and cook him a proper home-cooked meal.

Having been spoiled rotten her whole life, she'd never once stepped foot in a kitchen.

Her first attempt was a clumsy disaster, all thumbs and fumbling fingers. Hot oil spat from the pan, searing her fingertips with angry red blisters that throbbed with a fiery sting.

But when she gazed at that table laden with dishes she'd prepared with her own two hands, her heart swelled with hope.

She waited from the golden glow of sunset until the deep hush of night, the food growing stone-cold on the table, but Gavin never walked through that door.

Her hope slowly cooled, leaving only a hollow, icy ache.

She had the villa's housekeeper make calls and send people to track down Gavin's whereabouts.

Before long, the maid rushed back to report, her voice trembling with obvious nervousness and caution.

"Madam, after the meeting, President Vance went straight to the Apex Club downtown. He hasn't come out since."

The Apex Club was the city's most exclusive private venue, a place veiled in secrecy. Most of its resident performers were niche artists bound by restrictive contracts, unable to leave at will.

In her past life, this very club had been the spark igniting countless explosive arguments, pushing them to the brink of divorce.

Gavin had poured nearly half his income into the Apex Club, all to protect a popular resident singer named Sierra Miller.

That woman was the one he truly treasured, the one he held most dear.

Delilah's face went ashen in an instant.

Forcing herself to stand, her voice calm but hoarse, she said, "Prepare the car. We're going to the Apex Club."

Half an hour later, at the top-floor private suite of the Apex Club, Delilah lingered outside the door for a long moment, drew a deep breath, and then pushed it open.

Her gaze swept the room, and there, under the suite's dim, suggestive lights, a stunningly beautiful figure scrambled from Gavin's embrace, her delicate features a mask of panic.

That piercing scene stabbed deep into her eyes, and a sharp, searing pain exploded in her chest.

Sierra, her face pale with terror, hastily backed away, her posture filled with awkward unease.

Gavin, in stark contrast, remained utterly composed throughout. Not a flicker of disturbance crossed his face.

He stepped forward, shielding Sierra directly behind him, and raised his eyes to meet Delilah at the door.

His tone was flat, devoid of warmth. "What brings my wife here so late?"

That fiercely protective stance cut Delilah to the bone.

A bitter ache clogged her throat, making every breath a painful ordeal.

"You're my husband. I came to take you home."

A cold sneer flickered in Gavin's eyes, his voice laced with biting frost. "My dear wife, you must have forgotten. Just yesterday, you told me with your own lips to stay out as late as I pleased. You said even if I came to this very club, you wouldn't say a single word about it."

Those were the angry, reckless words she'd blurted out in a fit of rage in her past life.

Back then, her heart had been a cauldron of bitterness and defiance. But now, every fiber of her being, every glance, was consumed by him.

How could she possibly be the same person?

Delilah's hands balled into tight fists, her knuckles blanching white. Her voice scraped out, ragged and raw.

"I only... wanted you to come home. Just to taste a bite of the food I made."

Gavin lifted his gaze, studying her. A flicker of bewilderment, so faint it was almost missed, passed through his eyes.

After a long silence, he spoke flatly, "Since my wife asks, I wouldn't dare refuse."

He gave in so easily, yet no joy bloomed in Delilah's chest, only a suffocating surge of bitterness and heartache.

They returned to the cavernous, empty villa.

The dishes on the table had long since gone stone-cold, a greasy film congealing over them in a miserable, unappetizing sheen.

Delilah mustered a brittle smile, her voice soft. "Let me have the kitchen reheat the food. You—"

Before she could even finish, Gavin was already striding toward the staircase, his voice cool and detached. "No need. I already ate at the club."

A sharp pang seized Delilah's chest. She rushed forward, calling out to him.

"No matter how fancy the food outside is, it can't match a home-cooked meal. Please, just a few bites."

She was on the verge of telling him that this entire spread, every dish, was the fruit of an entire afternoon spent cooking with her own hands.

But Gavin only swept a dismissive glance over the cold, congealed dishes, his lips twisting into an icy, mocking smile.

"This kind of unpalatable home cooking is truly no match for the club's fare."