Jennifer's chest tightened as she thought of her own life.
Years of a loveless, sexless marriage had taught her the hollow ache of neglect, the quiet despair of nights spent yearning for intimacy that would never come.
She had endured it, silently, painfully, and the scars were still fresh, even after all these years.
She could not—would not—allow her daughter to experience the same fate.
"I've seen what happens when someone like you marries someone like her," Jennifer continued, her voice growing firmer with each word.
"At first, there might be charm, smiles, attention—but eventually, she'll be just another name on a list, another possession. And that's not the life I want for my daughter. She deserves someone who will choose her every day, someone who will cherish her, not just claim her."
Her eyes softened for a brief, fleeting moment as she added, "I love her too much to let her go through what I went through. You may think you understand women, Ross, but you don't understand my daughter. And I will not let you hurt her, even if it means standing in your way myself."
Ross heard her words and couldn't help but smile. There was no trace of anger or hesitation in his expression—only a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance.
"I don't know what you think you know," he said, his voice smooth and steady, "but I'm absolutely sure that I can make your daughter happy every single day. If you don't believe me..." He paused, his eyes glinting mischievously as he took a slow step forward. "...then perhaps I should let you experience it firsthand."
Jennifer's brows furrowed. "What do you m—"
She didn't have the chance to finish.
Ross suddenly closed the gap between them, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, and before she could react, his lips crashed against hers.
"Mmph—!" Jennifer's eyes flew wide open. The world around her seemed to vanish for that brief, shocking instant.
His lips were firm, demanding, and full of heat that made her heart skip a beat.
It wasn't gentle—it was bold, invasive, a statement rather than a request.
For a moment, she froze in disbelief.
She could feel the faint smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body pressing close, and the strength of his grip that kept her from immediately pushing him away.
Then, slowly, her mind caught up to her body's shock.
What is he doing? What am I doing?
It had been years since anyone had touched her this way.
Ever since her husband's illness—his diabetes that had slowly stolen his vitality—their marriage had turned into something polite, quiet, almost sterile.
She had grown used to being untouched, undesired. Until now.
That long-forgotten feeling—of being desired, of being wanted—burned through her defenses for a single, traitorous heartbeat.
But then her pride and anger came roaring back.
Jennifer shoved against his chest and gasped for air, her face flushed with a mix of shock and fury. "You—how dare you!"
Ross only smirked, unbothered. His calmness, that unshakable air of control, made her even angrier.
"You've got some nerve!" she hissed, and before he could respond, she lifted her knee sharply and drove it toward his groin with all her strength.
The sound of impact echoed in the room.
Jennifer expected him to crumble, to groan in pain, maybe even fall to the floor.
But Ross didn't even flinch.
He simply straightened up, still looking her in the eyes with that same unreadable calm.
Her breath caught. He's not even hurt?
For the first time, she noticed the faint gleam in his gaze—a quiet, almost dangerous confidence that made her pulse quicken in both fear and confusion.
He leaned slightly closer, his tone soft yet unnervingly composed.
"You shouldn't test me like that, Jennifer," he said quietly. "I might start to think you're curious about what makes me so sure."
Jennifer stumbled a step back, her pulse racing. "Stay away from me!" she snapped, though her voice betrayed a faint tremor.
Ross didn't pursue her. He simply turned his gaze aside and exhaled through his nose, as if amused.
"Relax," he said. "I told you, I only wanted to prove a point."
Jennifer's hands were trembling.
She couldn't tell if it was anger, shock, or something else entirely—but one thing was certain: this man was dangerous.
The kind of dangerous that didn't rely on words or threats.
And as he gave her that slow, confident smirk again, she realized something far more unsettling—he wasn't bluffing.
"And it would seem that I'm right," Ross said, his voice low, dangerous, and confident as he pressed Jennifer's body beneath his once more.
His lips trailed over the curve of her neck, kissing and licking in a slow, teasing rhythm, while his hands roamed boldly over her trembling form.
Every touch, every glide of his fingers, made her body betray her.
"Stop it, Ross, or I'll scream," Jennifer said, her voice trembling, a mix of fear and desire.
Her hands pushed at his chest, but it was half-hearted, almost reflexive.
"Do it," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let your husband come. Let him see how utterly helpless he is. He can't even satisfy his own wife. Tell me, Jennifer... are you really content being the prim and proper wife he wants you to be? Don't you ever wonder what it's like to feel alive again? To be touched by a real man... a man who knows exactly what he's doing?"
His words struck deep, cutting through the wall of self-control she had built over the years.
She had been holding herself back, burying her desires, pretending they didn't exist—but now, under his relentless touch and confident taunts, the dam threatened to break.
Ross's hand slipped beneath the fabric of her dress, brushing aside the thin material that barely shielded her.
The warmth she had been denying herself pooled at his touch, betraying the frustration and longing she had locked away for so long.