Hearing that, Summer got so mad she threw down her chopsticks and stormed off toward the bedroom.
I watched her slender back with amusement, laughing to myself.
The door slammed shut behind her.
I walked to the balcony and called my dad. "Dad, I need to borrow some money."
By evening, Summer must have realized she'd overreacted. She came to make up with me.
She'd washed up early, wrapped in nothing but a towel, emerging from the bathroom like a water nymph. When she let the towel drop and flashed me that seductive smile, I felt every capillary in my body ignite.
I have to say—she really was a one-in-a-million temptress. Every inch of her was top-tier. Especially that bewitching expression; it could always stir up my interest instantly.
Unlike before, when I'd treat her like something precious, this time I only cared about my own pleasure. Whatever felt good, I did.
I used to hold her in the palm of my hand, afraid of hurting her, never letting myself go wild. Now I wanted to experience what it felt like to floor the gas pedal.
In the past, I'd worried about her comfort and never tried anything too adventurous. Tonight, I used every move in the book.
Summer was wrecked by my intensity and kept begging for mercy. "Hus... band, can you... slow down... I can't... take it..."
The more she begged, the more excited I got. I floored it and fully enjoyed the ride.
That night, I was insatiable—three rounds, and I had her wailing by the end.
She lay sprawled before me, complaining between gasps. "Your... stamina is insane... three times, an hour each—are you trying to... kill me?"
I chuckled. "That was only half my strength. Imagine if I actually tried."
After several days of this, Summer would tremble the moment she saw me. At night, she wouldn't even come to bed until she was sure I was asleep—then she'd quietly slip in beside me.
Even then, I didn't let her off.
After a few months, even the way she walked had changed.
Though she was suffering, for the sake of scamming a house out of me, she endured it.
Soon enough, the day came to get our marriage certificate.
I didn't hesitate. According to plan, I registered our marriage with Summer.
The moment the certificate was in hand, a smug, uncontrollable smile spread across her face.
I smiled too.
The day after, Summer dragged me to the sales office to buy a house.
The development had three floor plans available: an $8 million three-bedroom, a $15 million luxury flat, and a $30 million standalone villa.
Back when we were dating, I'd told Summer I was just a regular tech employee—didn't want to give her too much pressure. To match that story, I'd picked the $8 million three-bedroom as our marital home.
But at the sales office, Summer suddenly pointed at the $15 million model. "Honey, I really love this layout. How about we get this one instead? I'm willing to put in all my savings."
I'd expected her greed. I just hadn't expected her to offer her own money.
I chuckled. "So how much savings do you have?"
Summer held up three fingers, looking dead serious.
