Barrett Mitchell's fingertips were scorching hot. In the dim light, his face was sharply defined, his eyes hazy and dangerous.
"I asked you, who are you?" Barrett repeated, his breath, heavy with alcohol, fanning across Chloe's face.
Chloe forced herself to remain calm, her voice cold. "I am Cullen Mitchell's wife, Chloe Martin." She tried to use the title as a warning.
"Cullen's wife?" Barrett let out a short, sharp laugh, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching hers.
"Another woman who climbed into my cousin's sickbed for money." His words were filled with undisguised contempt.
Chloe's eyes went cold. She hated being defined by money, especially now that she had nothing.
She tried to push him away, but his arm was like an iron clamp. He suddenly ducked his head, and a rough, punishing kiss landed on her lips.
Chloe's mind went blank. Humiliation and rage surged through her. She struggled, even opening her mouth to bite his lip.
The faint taste of blood spread between them. Barrett grunted in pain but didn't let go. Instead, he deepened the kiss, full of plunder and possession.
Just as Chloe felt she was about to suffocate, Barrett abruptly stopped. As if suddenly sober, he shoved her away.
Chloe stumbled back, hitting the arm of the sofa. She furiously wiped her lips, her eyes like daggers of ice.
Barrett's expression had changed. The haze and possession were gone, replaced by utter confusion and... disgust. "You're not her," he muttered to himself.
The woman in his memory—the one he had briefly encountered at a hotel three years ago—had looked nothing like the flawless stranger before him.
"Get out." Barrett's voice was as cold as ice as he pointed to the door.
Chloe was about to retort that this was her husband's room, and why should she be the one to leave.
Just then, a soft knock came at the door. The butler, Edwin Foster, spoke from outside. "Mr. Barrett, the master wishes to see you."
Barrett rubbed his brow in frustration. He shot Chloe a look, a look one might give to a disgusting piece of trash.
He ignored her, turned, and opened the door. He spoke a few cold words to Edwin, then strode away.
Edwin Foster entered the room. His expressionless gaze fell on Chloe, her lips slightly swollen, her clothes in disarray.
"Miss Martin," Edwin said, his voice flat. "To put the old master's mind at ease, I need to take a picture of you and Mr. Barrett 'getting along.'"
Chloe froze. What kind of absurd request was this? Take a "harmonious" photo with the man who had just forcibly kissed her?
Edwin seemed to see her resistance. "This is part of your contract—to cooperate unconditionally with any arrangement of the Mitchell family."
Humiliation washed over her again. Chloe clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. For her revenge, she had to endure.
"Fine," she squeezed the word through her teeth.
Edwin led her to a room at the end of the hall. Barrett was standing there, looking impatient. Clearly, this was also Byron Sr.'s order.
"Hurry up," Barrett said coldly.
Chloe walked to his side as Edwin raised his phone. To create the illusion of intimacy, Chloe took a deep breath and moved closer to Barrett, resting her head lightly on his shoulder.
The moment she leaned against him, she could feel his body stiffen and the palpable air of resistance radiating from him.
Edwin quickly snapped the photo. In the picture, the woman nestled close while the man's profile remained cold and severe, creating a strange and ambiguous scene.
The second the photo was taken, Barrett pushed Chloe away as if she were a plague.
"Don't let me see you again," Barrett said, turning and walking away without a backward glance.
