After finishing the acupuncture treatment on Alice, John rushed into the bathroom. He turned the shower knob all the way to cold, letting the freezing water crash down over him as he tried to wash away the sweat and—more importantly—the lingering tension.
But it was useless.
The icy stream only made his skin prickle, but the heat inside him remained stubbornly alive. Worse, it triggered a memory—his first night at Greenland Villa, when Queenie had fallen out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam.
Damn it!
John groaned and turned the water even colder, hoping it would flush away the images blooming in his mind like wildflowers after spring rain.
Still no luck.
In the end, he gave up and forced himself to think of something completely different to regain control.
"If I don't master the Nameless Divine Skill soon, this kind of situation might drive me insane before I can even make a breakthrough," he muttered with a wry smile.
He stepped out of the shower, water dripping down his toned body. He grabbed a towel and dried off, too preoccupied to bother with a shirt. Still shirtless, he headed toward the living room—only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he arrived.
There were people there. More people than he expected.
Besides Tracy and Alice, Queenie had returned. And next to her sat a woman John had never seen before.
A stranger.
Everyone froze.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Tracy was the first to react. She sprang to her feet, rushed over, and pushed John backward into the hallway.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she hissed. "We don't care if you walk around half-naked, but there's a guest here! Are you trying to embarrass us?"
John blinked, bewildered. "How was I supposed to know someone else came back with Queenie? Who is she?"
"She's Monica—Queenie's college roommate. Word is, she married into a wealthy family right after graduation." Tracy gave him a look of exaggerated exasperation. "Now put something on before she starts thinking we live in a nudist colony!"
John grumbled under his breath, "Who's laughing at me, anyway?"
But Tracy ignored him. She opened the wardrobe, pulled out a suit, and handed it to him.
"Here. Just stand still—I'll help you get dressed."
She helped him into the shirt, tugged it straight, then carefully smoothed out the wrinkles like a devoted wife preparing her husband for work.
John looked down at her hands, then said with a touch of emotion, "Tracy, you're so thoughtful. Whoever ends up marrying you will be the luckiest man alive."
Tracy flushed crimson and lightly slapped his waist. "Stop talking nonsense! I'm still young..."
Unlike Alice, Tracy was gentler—more introverted. When John teased her, she turned bashful instead of playful. It was adorable.
Queenie had a similar softness deep down, but she was far better at hiding it. And frankly, John knew better than to tease her. That kind of game could easily get him smacked.
A few minutes later, the two of them returned to the living room.
Monica's gaze immediately locked onto John, sweeping over him with open curiosity. Then she turned to Queenie with a sly smirk.
"Queenie, I didn't know you had a man living here."
Queenie smiled politely. "His name is John. He's my brother."
"Brother?" Monica raised an eyebrow. "We lived together for four years and you never mentioned such a handsome brother."
Queenie's smile didn't waver. "John grew up with us in the welfare home. There's no blood relationship, but he's closer to us than real siblings."
"No blood relation?" Monica repeated, eyes narrowing slightly. She leaned closer to Queenie and whispered, "Even if you call each other brother and sister, that doesn't change the fact that you're unrelated. If he ever... you know, gets any ideas, wouldn't you all be in trouble?"
"I trust John," Queenie replied without hesitation.
Monica wasn't convinced. "You can't be too sure. Some men are excellent at pretending. And let's face it—men are animals. If something ever happens, it might be too late to regret it."
Queenie's smile faded. "Please drop it."
Her tone was sharper now. Clear boundaries had been drawn.
Monica chuckled awkwardly, trying to backpedal. "Okay, okay. Don't get mad. I was just joking."
Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Actually… I wouldn't mind joining you."
"…What?"
Queenie's eyes widened, stunned by the sudden shift.
Monica giggled and gave her hand a light pat. "Relax! I'm only kidding. You're still so serious, just like back in college."
Queenie exhaled, clearly relieved. "Monica, you're still as outrageous as ever."
But John wasn't fooled.
He felt Monica's gaze crawling over him like silk soaked in honey. There was no mistaking it—her interest wasn't just idle curiosity. It was hunger. Lust.
This wasn't vanity on his part.
He'd seen this look before—particularly from wealthy women who treated men like toys. For them, having a pretty face or a sculpted body was an invitation to be owned.
So this was the cost of being in shape. He shouldn't have walked out shirtless.
Now, he was being liked… perhaps a little too much.