Sunlight streamed faintly through the half-drawn curtains, glimmering off the polished marble floor and catching the gold trim of the vanity table. The mansion was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that came only after a long, chaotic night.
Kimberly groaned as the first rays of morning light touched her face. Her head throbbed painfully, pulsing with every heartbeat. She turned to the side and pressed a pillow against her forehead. Never again, she thought. Never again am I drinking that much champagne.
Her tongue felt dry, and her memories of the previous night were a hazy blur — laughter, music, and Roy's eyes under the moonlight… No, no, don't even think about that.
Just as she tried to sit up, a sharp knock sounded at the door. She winced at the sound, covering her ears.
"Come in," she mumbled, expecting it to be one of the maids with her morning tea.
The door opened quietly, and soft footsteps approached. She didn't bother to look up.
"Just leave it on the table, please," she said in a sleepy voice. "And close the curtains before you go."
There was no response. The air shifted slightly, heavier somehow. She frowned and turned her head—only for her heart to skip a beat.
It wasn't the maid.
It was Roy.
Dressed in a dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie, he looked every bit the refined gentleman. His hair was neatly combed, his jaw freshly shaven, and his expression calm but unreadable. In his hand was a small tray with a steaming bowl of soup.
Kimberly's eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately flopped back onto the bed, pretending to be asleep.
Roy said nothing. He walked to the small side table and carefully set the tray down. The gentle clink of porcelain against wood echoed in the silence. Then he moved toward the door.
Kimberly peeked slightly through her lashes and saw him reach for the handle. When she heard the door open and close softly, she let out a sigh of relief.
"Finally…" she whispered, sitting up quickly and tossing the duvet aside. Her hair was tousled, and her robe hung loosely around her shoulders. She rubbed her temples, then smiled faintly at the smell of the soup.
"At least he left me breakfast," she muttered, walking toward the table.
Just as she reached for the spoon, a deep voice came from behind her.
"Good morning, Kimb."
She froze. Her fingers went numb, and the spoon clattered into the bowl. Slowly, she turned — and nearly screamed.
Roy was still there, standing by the door with his arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow slightly raised. He had been watching her the entire time.
"R–Roy!" she stammered, stepping back. "What are you still doing here?"
He smirked slightly. "I wanted to make sure you actually ate something. And that you didn't faint again."
"I wasn't going to faint," she said quickly, though the pounding in her head betrayed her. She took another step backward, tripped slightly on the edge of the rug, and gasped—just before Roy caught her.
His hands wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her close before she could hit the floor.
For a moment, time froze.
Kimberly could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Her hands instinctively rested on his shoulders, and her pulse raced wildly.
She opened her eyes slowly, only to find his face mere inches from hers. His eyes — dark, focused, impossibly calm — locked onto hers like he could see right through her.
Roy leaned in closer, so close that their lips almost brushed. Kimberly's breath hitched; her eyes fluttered shut, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.
But instead of the kiss she imagined, his hand moved up — and gently brushed a small piece of lint from her hair.
She opened her eyes in shock, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"W–what are you doing?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.
"Removing dirt," he said casually, his voice deep and teasing. "What's going on in that little mind of yours, Kimb?"
She pulled away instantly, straightening her robe and clutching it tightly around her. "What do you mean by that?"
Roy's lips curved in amusement. "Nothing. You're fine." He nodded toward the soup. "Finish your meal, and I hope you feel better."
"Y–yes, sure," she replied quickly, avoiding his eyes. "And… thank you for the soup."
"Anytime," he said simply, and turned to leave.
The moment the door shut behind him, Kimberly sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.
"Shit, Kimb. Shit," she whispered. "Get a grip, girl."
She stomped to the bathroom to freshen up. The cold shower helped clear her head a bit. She wrapped a towel around herself and stood in front of the mirror, applying lotion. As she reached for her necklace, something caught her eye.
She leaned closer to the mirror — and froze.
Right on her nape and slightly along her collarbone were faint reddish marks. Not scratches. Not bruises. Marks.
"Oh my goodness," she gasped, touching them. "What the—?"
She rubbed the spots frantically, but they wouldn't fade. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
Her mind flashed briefly to last night — the car ride, his arm around her, his breath near her skin. But no, she didn't remember this. "Shit, Kimb, how could you let this happen?" she muttered, glaring at herself. "I am never drinking again!"
After trying to hide the marks with makeup and failing, she grabbed a silk scarf and wrapped it stylishly around her neck. Then she put on her biggest pair of sunglasses. Perfect disguise. Or so she thought.
When she reached the garage, Roy was already standing by the car, waiting to open the door for her. Without a word, Kimberly strutted forward, opened it herself, and slid in.
Roy raised a brow but said nothing. The drive to the office was painfully silent. Every time she caught his reflection in the mirror, her stomach twisted.
When they finally arrived, she stepped out quickly — only to bump into her cousin, Natasha, right in the hallway.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Natasha said, eyeing her from head to toe. "What's with the scarf and the shades? It's not even sunny."
Kimberly rolled her eyes. "Just… fashion."
Natasha squinted suspiciously. "Fashion, huh? Let's see about that." Before Kimberly could stop her, Natasha reached out and tugged off the scarf.
"Natasha!" Kimberly exclaimed, trying to grab it back — but it was too late.
Natasha's eyes widened as she stared at Kimberly's neck. "Oh. My. God. Kimb!" she half-shrieked, covering her mouth. "What is that?"
"It's nothing!" Kimberly said quickly, pulling the scarf back. "And will you stop shouting?"
Natasha leaned closer, lowering her voice but not her excitement. "Girl, that's not nothing! That's a—oh my gosh—"
"Don't say it," Kimberly warned.
"—hickey!" Natasha whispered dramatically. "Oh my goodness, someone claimed you, girl! Was it juicy? Was it spicy? Don't lie to me, was it Roy?"
Kimberly's jaw dropped. "What—what are you talking about?! That's an insect bite!"
Natasha gave her a deadpan look. "Honey, unless the insect was six feet tall with strong hands, that's not a bite."
"Natasha!" Kimberly hissed. "Will you stop with the nonsense?"
Natasha smirked. "Oh, I get it. You don't want to admit it, huh? Well, your secret's safe with me—"
"Natasha, nothing happened," Kimberly said firmly, crossing her arms. "You know what? Believe whatever you want. I have work to do."
As they both entered the elevator, Natasha whispered under her breath, "Mmhmm. And I thought I was dramatic."
Kimberly shot her a glare, but before she could respond, the elevator dinged open. One of the secretaries rushed toward her.
"Ma'am," she said breathlessly, "your father is here."
Kimberly's eyes widened. "My father? Why didn't anyone tell me earlier?"
The secretary hesitated. "I was just informed. He's in the conference room with… someone."
"Someone?" Natasha echoed. "Who?"
The secretary leaned in, lowering her voice. "They said he's the assistant of Lord Christian."
Kimberly frowned. "Lord Christian… the richest, most ruthless mafia boss that no one's ever seen?"
Natasha nodded, eyes wide. "Yes, that one. Why is he sending someone here?"
Kimberly's pulse quickened. "I have no idea."
The secretary gestured nervously toward the conference room. "Your father said it's urgent."
Kimberly exchanged a look with Natasha — half confusion, half dread. Whatever this meeting was, it wasn't going to be ordinary.
She straightened her scarf, adjusted her sunglasses, and took a deep breath. "Let's go find out what the devil the infamous Lord Christian wants from me."
As the elevator doors closed behind them, Roy appeared from the parking lot entrance, his sharp gaze following Kimberly's figure until she disappeared upstairs. He frowned slightly, his instincts on edge.
Something about that name — Lord Christian — didn't sit right with him.