For the first time, Grace realized a tough, muscular man like John could have such an alluring voice. It made her legs weak.
Yet, momentary pleasure wasn't worth risking her future. She masked her emotions and said coldly, "Mr. Amster, please behave. I have no interest in being someone's stepmother."
The air turned icy.
John's playful demeanor vanished. His sharp gaze locked onto her, exuding an invisible pressure.
"So you think I'll marry you?"
Embarrassment flickered in Grace's eyes, but she held her ground. "You misunderstand. Our relationship was always physical. Whether you marry me or not is irrelevant. I never considered it—now or ever."
She changed quickly, her movements brisk. Her expression was cold.
"It's over, Mr. Amster."
With that, she left without looking back.
Outside, she pulled out her phone, ready to block him on WhatsApp. But when she thought of Jimmy, her student, she hesitated. Instead, she renamed the contact from "188,20" to "Jimmy's father." From now on, she would draw a clear line between them. No more entanglements.
Reality, however, had other plans.
During school family visits, Jimmy's turn was scheduled last. Grace had no idea John was his father.
Taking a deep breath, she reassured herself. He was busy. Even if he was home, it didn't mean he'd attend.
At sunset, she arrived at the Amster residence.
A gray-haired butler greeted her warmly.
Walking through the courtyard, she took in the grand villa. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. Hard to believe the man who dressed so simply lived in such luxury.
She reached for her shoe covers, but the butler handed her a pair of slippers.
"Miss Quinn, wear these," he said kindly.
"Thank you." She slipped them on and stepped inside.
The chandelier-lit living room was empty.
"Where's Jimmy?" she asked.
"He's practicing boxing. This way, please."
The butler led her to the elevator.
When the doors opened, she froze.
A boxing ring.
Inside, a small boy and a towering man faced each other. Jimmy, clad in gloves, was drenched in sweat. John stood bare-chested, his muscles glistening under dim lighting.
Grace's breath hitched.
John's presence was intense and commanding. A bead of sweat rolled down his sculpted chest, tracing the scar and dropping to the floor.
"Stand up. Try again," he instructed, voice firm.
Jimmy struggled, but exhaustion overtook him. He collapsed, gasping for air.
John moved instantly, lifting the boy with one arm as if he weighed nothing.
Grace stepped forward, instincts flaring.
"Stop it, Mr. Amster!"
Her small hand pressed against his hard chest—a stark contrast of strength and defiance.
John's icy gaze met hers. "Move."
She stood her ground.
Recalling the bruises on Jimmy's body, she finally understood their cause.
"He's five," she argued. "This is too much."
John's expression darkened. "And what position is Miss Quinn in to lecture me?"
"I'm his teacher. It's my duty to look out for his well-being. Pushing him this hard won't help him."
The butler hesitated, then added, "Miss Quinn is right. The young master is exhausted. A break would be wise."
Jimmy, trembling, left the ring. Grace's heart ached for him.
"He's just a child. He can't handle this," she pressed.
John stepped forward. She instinctively backed up—until the ropes stopped her.
"Do you pity him?" he asked, voice low, rich.
Her heart pounded. He leaned in, his heat intoxicating. Sweat clung to his chiseled jaw. His fingers brushed her chin, warm and firm.
"If you pity him that much," he murmured, "why not be his stepmother?"
Her eyes widened.
She lifted her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist, twisting it behind her.
"Let me go, John Amster!" she snapped, struggling.
His grip tightened. A smirk played on his lips.
"Stop pretending, Miss Quinn..." His tone dripped with amusement.
His hand traced her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.
"Miss Quinn," he whispered, lips close to her ear. "Do you want.....?"