Chapter 64

Harrison desperately tried to diffuse the tension.

Nathaniel's piercing gaze dropped to meet hers, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk.

"Help me?"

He was clearly under the influence, and here she was offering assistance.

Harrison's entire face burned crimson. She flailed her hands wildly.

"That's not what I meant! There are other ways I can help!"

"Really?" Nathaniel arched one perfect brow, thoroughly enjoying her flustered state. His voice dripped with amusement. "Do enlighten me."

Words failed her.

Was he toying with her deliberately?

The usually composed businessman seemed to relish watching her squirm.

Standing mere inches away, Nathaniel's tailored slacks hugged his powerful thighs, that ridiculously expensive black belt drawing attention to his lean waist.

Harrison's eyes darted everywhere but lower. She couldn't. Wouldn't. Yet her eye level aligned dangerously close to...

Then his large hand captured her face. His smirk deepened. "Harrison, where exactly are you looking?"

First she'd been inspecting his bedroom, now stealing glances at him.

Scarlet-cheeked, she stammered, "N-nowhere!" She tried to bolt, but Nathaniel held firm. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "Why were you exiled to the countryside?" The question came casually, but his grip tightened.

Harrison froze. Her wide eyes searched his.

"Did no one want you?" he pressed.

No one wanted her.

The words struck like a physical blow. Tears pricked her eyes—not just from sadness, but from the raw sting of rejection. The crushing knowledge that even the man who'd once claimed to want her had changed his mind.

Her gaze locked onto his, brimming with unspoken longing. Nathaniel towered over her, his powerful frame radiating dominance. With ease, he could shield any woman in those strong arms.

Right now, Nathaniel thought she looked heartbreakingly fragile. Perched on his bed, her delicate features still held traces of youthful innocence. Those clear eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

She was temptation incarnate—begging to be claimed, protected, desired.

An electric current crackled between them, thick with unspoken hunger.

The fire Nathaniel had been restraining roared to life. His fingers tightened on her soft cheeks, forcing her lips into a perfect 'O' that revealed pearly teeth and a flash of pink tongue.

Swearing under his breath, Nathaniel abruptly released her. "I need a cold shower."

He turned sharply toward the bathroom.

Harrison remained on the bed, trembling. She'd told herself she didn't need anyone. Yet seeing Nathaniel, that overwhelming urge to lean on him resurfaced—to cling to the man who'd once promised sanctuary when the world cast her out.

But he didn't want her anymore.

He wanted Isabella.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned at the Whitmore estate. Frederick and Cassandra had stormed out with Penelope, cursing viciously. Margaret, overcome with rage, had been rushed to the hospital.

Isabella and Victoria sat slumped on the sofa, their flawless makeup now smeared—clear evidence of their humiliating defeat against the third branch.

The birthday gala had turned the Whitmores into Willowbrook's laughingstock.

Isabella's jaw clenched. Then realization struck—where was Nathaniel? The guests had dispersed, but Nathaniel was nowhere to be found.

"Nathaniel? Nathaniel!"