“Miss Harrington, are you feeling unwell? How about I help you inside to rest?” The greasy middle‑aged man grabbed Rosalie Harrington’s hand, his eyes glued to her soft pink lips, practically drooling.
“No, thanks.” Rosalie tried to yank her hand back, but his grip didn’t budge.
The man stuck to her like some nasty glue, his foul breath inching closer to her face.
No. Impossible.
He used to treat her so well. They were supposed to get married. He…
She forced herself to stop thinking, digging her nails into her palm to stay awake. The man clung to her relentlessly, greed flooding his gaze—clearly he knew something.
Rosalie steadied herself, then suddenly stopped walking and peeked behind him. She widened her eyes. “Huh? Mr. Norris, is that lady behind you… your wife?”
“What? Where?” The man jerked in surprise and instinctively turned his head.
The moment he was distracted, Rosalie gritted her teeth and bolted.
Realizing he’d been fooled, the greasy man scrambled after her.
Rosalie’s steps were shaky, her body weak. She knew she couldn’t outrun him like this. Just as panic tightened her chest, she spotted a guest room door slightly open. Without thinking, she shoved it and slipped inside.
She slammed the door shut and staggered toward the bathroom.
But the second she pushed the bathroom door open, she ran straight into a firm, warm chest.
Rosalie stumbled back, her weakened legs nearly giving out.
The man caught her waist in one swift motion, pulling her right into his arms.
She looked up and froze. The man—Sebastian Harrington—stood there in a loosely tied bathrobe, the knot barely hanging on. His broad chest was partly exposed, his well‑defined, sun‑kissed skin glowing with warmth. His sharp, striking features only made the whole scene even more overwhelming.
Rosalie’s mind buzzed violently. She was… really about to lose control.
She bit down hard on her lip, nails digging deep into her palm.
No. No, she couldn’t.
“Rosalie, you can’t—”
But the moment she thought that disgusting guy might still be lurking outside, a chill crawled down her spine. She could only grit her teeth and force herself to look back up at the man in front of her.
“Sorry… someone’s chasing me, so I was wondering if maybe you could…”
Sebastian Harrington’s brows tightened, the sharp lines looking as if they could cut through the air, his voice filled with impatience. “And that has anything to do with me? Get out.”
Damn it. Tonight he had walked right into a trap set by his business rivals.
Heh, those people begging to partner with him really would stoop to anything.
“Please…”
There was a faint shimmer in her eyes as if tears might spill at any moment, yet he turned his head aside to avoid it. “I’ll say it one more time. Get. Out.”
Rosalie inched closer carefully, her voice soft and trembling, her small hand tugging at the hem of his bathrobe with a touch of grievance. “Just… help me, okay?”
Sebastian’s gaze darkened noticeably, locking onto the fragile, pitiful figure in his arms. “Help you with what? Hm?”
“Help me—”
Before she could finish, the bathroom door was kicked shut.
“This is what you begged me for… don’t blame me later…”
The warm, dim lights seemed to heat up little by little, and then a storm‑like force surged in, overwhelming everything…