"I wanna have a baby," said a woman in her twenties, beautiful with an average height and a solid posture with curves that most women don't have.
Her husband remained silent. He didn't even turn around to confirm how serious she was about what she had just said.
"Chris, are you even listening to me?" she pressed, and only then did the man turn around. "It's okay if you don't want to touch me, at least give me your sperm. I'll apply for the program, go through the pregnancy, and take care of all the needs—myself. It's fine. I just need your seed in my womb."
The man in front of her was expressionless. Just a flat, uninterested stare, and then he turned away.
"Chris!"
"Stop it, Shalene. I can hear you," he snapped. He, who had been reluctant to look at her, was forced to focus his gray eyes on her, who was still waiting for an answer.
She didn't want to be pampered even though Chris was a multimillionaire who could fulfill all her desires.
"No, Shalene... you don't need anything from me. You have a business empire, your parents' inheritance. What else? Sperm, you say?"
"Yes. So, what do you say?" she asked again.
Chris moved closer. So close that she could smell the aftershave emanating from his body, the warm breath of him sweeping across her cold neck. Shalene still hoped Chris would touch her at least once.
One year of marriage, without love; without touch. What woman could stand it?
"Let alone sperm. I would never give you even a single tear," he replied in a low but firm and piercing voice. Shalene gasped, sitting down on the sofa while still holding on.
She knew Chris would refuse, but she didn't expect him to say something so hurtful.
Did he hate her so much that he forbade her from using his sperm as she should?
There had never been any rumors about Chris being involved with any other woman. Or maybe Shalene was too naive to know. What was certain was that she had waited in vain for a year.
The next day, Shalene went about her work as usual. It was lunchtime and she was still thinking about Chris. She stopped by her husband's favorite food stall and bought two portions for them. Her plan was to enjoy lunch with him.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of Chris at the office. His office was empty except for a warm sofa, a sign that someone had been sitting there.
Perhaps his business colleagues, Shalene thought.
She got up, walked randomly around the empty room, and noticed Chris's belongings scattered on the table. It was a bit unusual because he was a neat perfectionist.
There was a special room there. Shalene had never once entered it to see what was inside.
Yes, for a year she had been like a ghost in her own home and to her husband. Anything related to Chris was never her right. This time, she was not wrong to give in to her curiosity.
She pushed the revolving door, which immediately took her to a room. A strange smell wafted through the air, followed by a chorus of voices that made her stomach churn.
Shalene kept walking, and one surprise made her heart stop beating.
"What the hell, Chris!?" she called out, managing to stop Chris's hips from thrusting into the woman's buttocks in front of him. Both of them jumped like thieves caught red-handed trying to steal. However, the woman was not surprised. She let her naked body be exposed as if to show Shalene that she had won.
"Alana? What are you doing with my husband?" Shalene snapped, but it didn't faze either of them.
It was too late; they had been caught red-handed. There was no point in denying it.
"You know now, huh? Are you still hoping my sperm will fertilize your womb? You know the answer," Chris said coldly.
Shalene didn't want to say much. She shook her heqd weakly then turned and left the room to go somewhere. Her patience had run out, and if she hadn't known about her husband's infidelity, Shalene might have foolishly given their marriage another chance.
But never again.
Shalene drove to an office, came out with the documents she had signed, then went home and stretched out.
Chris hoped he would never again hear Shalene's requests, whether for sex or children. Then she would grant them.
***
She left. She didn't care that it had been raining in Eastonville since the afternoon. Chris hadn't returned and wouldn't, even if she waited until tomorrow morning.
Her black BMW sped towards Westmont, a quiet suburb. The wipers squeaked. The rain didn't stop, but her thoughts were now much darker than the night sky.
Without children, without love; her life was empty.
CRASH!
Suddenly, a loud bang deafened her ears. The front tire of her car burst on a slippery curve near Westmont Bay. Her car swerved. Shalene panicked and pulled the handbrake, causing her car to come to a complete stop on the side of the deserted road.
Heavy rain continued to pour down on the windshield. There was no cell phone signal and not a single car passed by.
Shalene got out of the car. Her black pencil skirt and white shirt were instantly soaked by the rain. Her transparent blouse clung tightly to her black lace bra. The curves of her body were clearly visible under the flashing hazard lights.
"Damn it!" she cursed, kicking the flat tire.
Suddenly, the headlights of a luxurious black SUV appeared out of the darkness. The driver's door opened. A tall, sturdy man in his forties got out, holding a large black umbrella. His Armani suit was wet, accentuating his athletic physique. He had a strong jawline and a thin beard, and his hazel eyes were sharp—gazing to a desperate woman before him.
"Need help?" His voice was deep, heavy; sounding firm even though his language was polite.
Shalene stammered. She glanced over and could only see vaguely. Her eyes stung from the rain mixed with tears.
"Yes, my tire is flat. There's no signal and no one I can ask for help," she replied haltingly.
The man glanced at Shalene momentarily. A beautiful, fragile woman, but there was a fire in her eyes. Her body... perfect. His mind immediately calculated—changing a tire would only take twenty minutes, or less. Then what?
He immediately moved to the trunk of his SUV, returning with a toolkit in his hands. He knelt in front of the tire and mud, starting to do what he had to do to save time.
The muscles in his right arm tensed as he turned the wrench. He took off his jacket and placed it on the hood of the car. His white shirt became transparent from the water, revealing a faint tribal tattoo on his chest. Shalene couldn't stop staring at him.
Rough, powerful; the opposite of the cold Chris.
"Done," he said, 15 minutes later. He wiped his hands on his pants. "Get in my car. There's high flooding ahead. The nearest motel is still five kilometers away. It's not safe for you to be alone."
Shalene was silent, hesitant. However, the rain was getting heavier and she couldn't stand the cold. Her teeth had been chattering since earlier. "Okay, thank you, Mr..."
"Thorne. Damien Thorne," he replied before getting into the driver's seat and driving off to a place that Shalene never knew would witness the beginning of her turbulent life.