When Wendy Lawson woke up again, she found herself leaning on John Smith's broad shoulder, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. His scent—a mix of sandalwood and masculine aftershave—was intoxicating, like the finest aphrodisiac.
John was on the phone, his voice low and stern, a quiet authority that could not be ignored. Even though taking calls in the infusion room was frowned upon, John Smith was simply too striking. The women around him—both young and old—couldn't help but steal glances, their eyes fixed on him, as if they could melt *Lawyer Smith* with their gazes.
When John finally hung up, he turned to see that Wendy was awake. Her previously pale face was now tinged with a faint blush, and her still-drowsy eyes gave her a softness, an innocence that was effortlessly alluring.
"How long are you planning to lean on me?"John asked in a calm, detached voice.
Wendy's cheeks flushed red, and she quickly straightened up, embarrassed.
John casually picked up his coat, slipping his phone into his pocket as he glanced at her."I'll take you home,"he said in a tone that left no room for refusal.
Wendy didn't want to trouble him further, but John seemed insistent. She hesitated briefly, but seeing his determination, she had no choice but to agree.
On the way, his phone rang again. After a brief conversation, he glanced over at Wendy and said,"I need to stop by my apartment to pick up a fax. I'll drop you off afterward."
Wendy hesitated, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. She knew what it might mean for a woman to go to a single man's apartment. But then she silently scoffed at herself. John Smith wasn't lacking in women; he didn't need to resort to tricks.
Without another word, Wendy agreed.
…
John's apartment was located in the prime area of City B, spanning roughly 200 square meters, luxuriously decorated like a showroom. The sleek and modern style of the place left little doubt about its expensive taste.
John guided her to the living room."Wait here,"he said briefly, before disappearing into the study.
The fax he was expecting arrived soon after. He collected the documents and made a quick call to his assistant, issuing instructions in his usual calm and efficient manner.
Once his business was handled, John was about to take Wendy home when his phone buzzed again from inside his pocket. The unique ringtone was assigned to only one person.
His expression shifted, tension suddenly stiffening his entire body. Slowly, he pulled out his phone and, just as he expected, it was a call from that person.
For a long moment, he stared at the screen, his face unreadable. Then, with a slight frown, he declined the call. He didn't call back, either—he had no intention of doing so.
John's mood darkened considerably after that. He walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a drink. He downed two and a half glasses quickly, then stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, the glass in hand as he gazed out into the night, brooding in silence.
Wendy waited for a long time. At first, she could hear the faint hum of the fax machine, but after John's phone rang, the apartment grew quiet. Concerned, she hesitated before gently pushing open the door to the study.
John stood with his back to her. Wendy couldn't see his face, but the loneliness in his posture was unmistakable. There was an air of solitude that clung to him, as if he were lost in memories of someone from his past.
A woman's intuition told Wendy that John Smith's heart wasn't as untouchable as he seemed—he was thinking about someone, someone important.
Not wanting to intrude, Wendy quietly turned to leave.
"Stop,"John's hoarse voice called out from behind her, freezing her in place.
Before she could react, she felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind. His warm breath brushed against the nape of her neck as he whispered,"You came here, didn't you want to be with me?"
Wendy couldn't deny it. Her heart was racing, and a small voice inside her warned her that John Smith wasn't stable right now. Even if they slept together, he might not acknowledge it afterward.
But her body had already betrayed her. She felt weak, unable to resist him.
The night outside was dark and seductive, the city lights glowing softly from the 24th floor of John's luxurious apartment. Wendy was trapped between his firm grip and the cold glass of the window.
John knew how to torment her, his touch light and teasing, driving her to the edge of madness. His gaze, sharp and clear despite the alcohol, stayed fixed on her, watching the way her face flushed with desire.
…
But in the end, Wendy never experienced his full possession. Her eyes were hazy, her lips parted, her voice a soft, breathless whisper."John…what's wrong?"
The heat in John's eyes vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but cold indifference. He stepped back, putting distance between them as if the moment they shared had meant nothing to him at all.
"I drank too much,"he said, his voice emotionless,"I lost control. I apologize."
Wendy's face went pale, humiliation flooding through her. She felt utterly rejected, the raw ache of embarrassment tightening her throat.