𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

18.

The car glides effortlessly through the opulent neighborhood, the polished streets reflecting the sheen of luxury around us. Unlike last time, we didn’t have to search for Wilde; he was already waiting at the curb. For me?

My question is answered almost immediately as he strides purposefully toward the car.

"Host, was villain-sama... perhaps waiting for you? Has the world started spinning in reverse?" The system’s perplexed voice rings like a beautiful sweet melody in my ears. Of course, the little bee wouldn't understand the kind of effect I can have on men. It's conveniently oblivious—or maybe it’s just gay. Sometimes I wonder if the system has a lover.

Before I can even respond, Wilde's opening the door, his strong hands lifting me effortlessly, and I find myself seated on his lap, the sudden closeness leaving little space for protest.

His eyes, dark and calculating, lock onto mine, dissecting every layer of my expression. The tension between us is thick, a silent charge neither of us is fully willing to acknowledge. I feel like saying something to break the silence, but he beats me to it.

"Faye," he murmurs, his voice low, deep, and dangerous, "You're late." His hand tightens slightly on my waist as he adjusts me in his lap, as if he’s staking some unspoken claim, though the flicker of confusion crosses his eyes.

"But then again... you always like playing games, don’t you? Tell me, was it intentional this time?"

His dark gaze lingers on me, searching for something behind my eyes—trust? Deceit? He doesn’t know, and that irritates him more than he’d ever admit. His jaw tightens subtly, the flicker of frustration barely concealed behind the mask of his calm demeanor.

If he's acting right now, he's doing an excellent job at it. Because a part of me almost wants to believe that he means what he's saying. I must be delusional. Men are supposed to be playthings, Fanyin. Play and leave. Play and leave. Get your act together.

Casually, I pull out my phone, making a show of checking the time while simultaneously sending a quick text to my assistant.

World's Best: Check if something happened in the Timewell family yesterday.

Assistant Uno: On it, Boss.

I glance back at Wilde, offering him a pout. "Look, baby, it's only 8:25. I was barely five minutes late. How can you bear to scold me?" My voice is lightly aggrieved, but my eyes carefully watch for his reaction.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and I can feel his gaze, heavy and probing, like he's deciding whether to play along or call my bluff. His fingers brush against my waist, but there's an underlying tension to his touch, as if he’s holding something back. Does he take me for his pet kitten? What's up with all the stroking?

I bat my lashes, leaning in slightly, my tone turning teasing. "Why’re you in such a bad mood today, hmm? Don’t you know frowning will make you look like an old man? I won’t marry an ugly old man!"

A muscle in his jaw twitches, his smirk faltering for the briefest second, and that’s when I feel it—the change in him today. Darker. More dangerous.

I shift to slide off his lap, the sudden impulse to create distance creeping over me, but before I can escape, his grip tightens around my waist, firm yet unhurried, holding me in place. My breath catches in my throat.

"Going somewhere?" His voice drops, teasing, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath the surface that makes my pulse quicken. The playfulness in his eyes has faded, replaced by something more primal, more intense.

I flash him a sly smile, forcing myself to remain calm. "No," I murmur, leaning back into him, though my heart pounds against my ribs. "Just getting comfortable on my lover."

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing slightly. The smirk returns, slow and deliberate, but there's a hint of something else—something darker, lurking beneath his usual charm. His eyes are moving all over my face, as if he's scared to miss even the slightest change in my expression. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Before I can respond, Wilde moves with swift precision, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck. The air between us grows heavy, charged, and then his lips crash against mine. It's not soft or slow—it's raw, demanding, and ignites a fire deep in my chest.

I gasp, my hands instinctively gripping his jacket as his other arm pulls me flush against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin barrier of clothing. My mind spins, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as I lose myself in the kiss.

The driver, without a word, flicks on the partition, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment as the car continues to glide down the road, but it's as if the world outside no longer exists.

Wilde's kiss is fierce, devouring, yet there's a tenderness lurking beneath the intensity. His lips move with a practiced confidence, coaxing a response from me that I can't help but give. Each stroke of his tongue against mine sends waves of heat coursing through my body, and a small moan escapes me before I can stop it.

For a moment, everything else fades—the mission, the lies, the pretense. It's just us. His mouth, his touch, the way he makes my heart race and my body melt. There's a quiet intensity in the way he kisses me, as if he's trying to communicate something neither of us dares to say out loud.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, as if I'm afraid that if I let go, this moment will disappear. I can feel the roughness of his breathing, matching mine, the tension that had been simmering between us finally boiling over.

And yet, amidst the heat, there's a softness too-a vulnerability that neither of us will admit to. The kind that makes my heart thud painfully in my chest, because I know this is more than just a game, more than just playing and leaving.

But before I can dwell on that thought, Wilde pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathless. His thumb brushes against my cheek, the gesture almost tender, though his dark eyes still burn with that untamed fire.