Sara's question snapped Adrian back to reality.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Did I ever say that?"
Sara curled her lips into a faint smile. "Then Mr. Harding shouldn't be so affected. A man should know when to move on."
"Don't presume to guess my thoughts."
He pulled his arm free from her grasp and pushed her away without hesitation.
The smile on Sara's face didn't falter; if anything, it widened. "Is Mr. Harding still angry?"
He glanced at her coldly, then turned and walked out of the club toward the car. Before the door could close, Sara squeezed in after him.
No matter where he went, she planned to stick to him like glue tonight.
"That day was my fault," she began, her voice soft. "Not long after you left, my period came. I didn't pretend to be sick to lie to you—I really wasn't feeling well." She tugged gently on his sleeve. "Mr. Harding, you're a magnanimous man. Don't hold a grudge against me."
Thinking back to her stupidity, Sara was full of regret.
That afternoon, she had been mocked by his sister, Bella, at the Harding family estate. Resentment had been simmering in her chest. Later that night, right at the critical moment in bed, she realized they were out of condoms.
At that moment, Bella's insult—*cheap trash*—echoed in her mind. Suddenly, Sara didn't want to take the pill and abuse her body for his pleasure anymore.
So she used illness as an excuse and rejected him.
It wasn't until Adrian slammed the door and stormed out that Sara realized the gravity of her mistake. Stopping a man when he was past the point of no return? No one would take that well.
Hearing her explanation, the man's lips pulled into a distant, mocking arc. "Such a coincidence?"
His features were chiseled, his brows and eyes striking, commanding authority. But when he didn't smile, he radiated an arrogance that kept people miles away.
Just like now.
In his cool, detached gaze, Sara saw her own pathetic reflection, desperately trying to please him.
"...Did you drink? When we get back, I'll make you some hangover soup. That way, you won't have a headache tomorrow."
Adrian usually fell for this. No matter how big Sara's mistake, as long as she played the role of the caring wife, he would calm down.
This time it didn't work. He simply looked at her, then turned his gaze out the window.
Whether he saw through her clumsy acting or was distracted by thoughts of Eva, only he knew.
But he didn't kick her out of the car, so Sara took it as a small victory.
The car sped through the night, heading toward their villa.
When they arrived, the alcohol seemed to hit Adrian all at once. His steps were unsteady. Sara rushed to support him.
He wasn't polite about it, dumping his entire weight onto her small frame.
Dragging him upstairs left Sara drenched in sweat. She casually shed her coat, moving through the walk-in closet in just her slip dress.
It wasn't overly revealing, but Sara possessed an innate sensuality. The silk clung to her curves in all the right places.
Adrian sat at the foot of the bed, openly sizing her up.
"Did you shower?" he asked abruptly.
Sara turned, startled. Adrian's dark gaze was fixed on her, heavy and intense.
She didn't think he would be interested in her right now. Eva's tears had clearly pierced his heart, leaving him distracted the entire ride home.
*Old flames die hard*, she thought. If their breakup hadn't been so ugly back then, Sara would likely be the one sleeping alone in an empty room tonight.
Dropping her guard, she walked over and handed him his pajamas with a smile. "Mr. Harding has been gone for ten days."
"Keeping track?"
The corners of Adrian's mouth hooked into an ambiguous smirk.
Sara seized the chance to show loyalty. "Wasn't I trying to find a chance to come crawling back and apologize?"
"And it took you ten days to find that chance?" Adrian's tone was half-joking, half-serious. "I thought you'd forgotten a man like me."
A man who is slightly drunk is a dangerous actor.
If a stranger heard his tone, they might think Adrian Harding was deeply in love with his wife.
Sara sighed inwardly, but her smile only grew sweeter. "How could that be? When you're not home, I don't even have the appetite to eat."
He gave a hoarse laugh, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes.
"The water is ready. Go take a shower."
Sara couldn't guess what was going through his mind, so she decided not to try. She turned to leave.
Before she could take a step, the man suddenly unbuttoned his shirt, stood up, and swept her off her feet.
Sara gasped, caught off guard. Still shaken, she looked up and crashed straight into his deep, burning pupils.
His breath, laced with alcohol, fanned against her face. His gaze was scorching.
"Let me check—just how much weight you've really lost."
It wasn't a request; it was a notification. Before she could answer, he carried her directly into the bathroom.
