Once you've experienced incredible intimacy with someone, there's no turning back. It's either a complete absence or an endless craving; once you've tasted it, you'll always want more.

Clothes lay haphazardly strewn across the carpet, torn stockings tangled with a pristine white shirt in chaotic disarray.

Grace stepped out of bed, her bare feet gliding over the floor as her delicate fingers reached for the scattered garments.

But just as she began to gather them, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into the man's embrace.

"Don't go. Stay and sleep with me," he murmured, his voice husky.

"Don't forget our agreement," she replied, with a hint of firmness in her tone.

Perched on the edge of the bed, her fair cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, she smiled, revealing neat teeth that were both charming and disarming. Yet, behind that smile lay a trace of detachment.

Three months earlier, Grace had discovered that her long-term boyfriend, Alexander Hoffman, was cheating on her. After drowning her sorrows in drink, she fell into the hotel pool, only to be rescued by this man.

Soaked and vulnerable, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do you want me?" she had asked.

That night marked Grace's first experience of passion, leaving an indelible impression of this man in her mind and body.

After that amazing night, she exchanged contact details and calmly told him, "We make a good match. If you ever want to have some fun, just make a call."

He studied the red mark on the bedsheet, his eyes filled with unspoken meaning.

From that day on, whenever he had the chance, he would join her in bed.

Their bodies grew increasingly in sync, and Grace found satisfaction in him. Yet, she had made her boundaries clear from the start.

First, no staying overnight.

Second, if he found someone serious, she would walk away.

Third, their relationship would remain purely physical—no strings attached, no emotional ties—just the most primal desires shared between them under the cover of night, entwining like a dense spider's web.

Once it was over, she would adjust her skirt and turn away, as cold as ice.

He blew gently against the back of her ear, whispering, "One more time, okay?"

"No, I have an event at school tomorrow," Grace replied, breaking free from his grasp and getting dressed.

"Hmmm."

His low chuckle accompanied the flick of a lighter. Through the flickering flame, he watched as she slowly pulled down her silk dress, concealing the alluring curves of her chest, her slender waist, flat abdomen, and long, snow-white legs.

What teacher could be so enchanting? Those legs made him wish he could lose himself in her embrace forever.

Grace zipped up her dress and glanced back at him. He was no pretty boy; his features were distinct, and ruggedly handsome, with a chiseled jawline and deep, sharp eyes.

A scar adorned his bare torso. His muscles were well-defined—not the bulky type from the gym, but lean and exuding raw, masculine energy.

When his powerful arms wrapped around her, she felt a profound sense of security.

In every sense, he was more than satisfactory.

Grace turned away, a radiant smile curling her lips. "Goodnight."

She closed the door behind her, leaving without a care in the world, shedding the docility she had shown just half an hour earlier when she softly murmured, "Slow down."

The man extinguished his cigarette, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Clearly, he was just as pleased with Grace.

The next day, before dawn, Grace crawled out from her warm quilt.

She slipped into a white shirt and jeans, tying her hair up high, the slightly curly ends dancing in the air.

Arriving at school on time, she set down her bag and joined the other teachers in preparing for the day's event.

Grace taught at a private elite kindergarten, and today was the day of the concert performance, with all the parents expected to attend.

Just before the show, chaos erupted. "Miss Quinn, the little troublemakers in your class are fighting!"

The children at this school came from wealthy families and were treated like little princes, so such behavior was rare.

Grace rushed backstage to find two little boys wrestling on the floor.

Jimmy sat atop Larry, throwing punches, his own lip bleeding slightly.

Despite their young age, fierce determination shone in their eyes—an intensity not typical for children.

These boys were the young heirs of the Amster and Hamper families. The teachers could only shout at them from a distance, too intimidated to intervene.

"Larry, Jimmy, stop!" Grace's voice rang out, and they froze.

Larry quickly shoved Jimmy aside and rushed to Grace, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Miss Quinn, Jimmy hit me. It hurts! Can you make it better?"

As she tended to his injury, Grace felt a wave of anxiety wash over her.

If these young masters got hurt, her career could be in jeopardy.

"Don't worry, I'm here for you," she reassured him.

Jimmy, with blood on his lip, stared at her, seeking comfort but stubbornly keeping his distance.

After calming Larry, she arranged for him to change clothes and contacted both boys' guardians to explain the situation.

Turning to Jimmy, she squatted beside him. "That must hurt a lot, huh?"

He turned his face away, mumbling, "It doesn't hurt."

Grace dipped a cotton swab in iodine and gently wiped the corner of his mouth. Jimmy flinched in pain.

"Still insisting it doesn't hurt?"

She adopted a serious tone. "Now, tell me—why did you fight?"

In kindergarten, she was the only one bold enough to confront the young masters like this.

Jimmy lowered his head, mumbling, "He said I don't have a mother."

His small hands clenched and unclenched, and Grace's heart ached for him. Poor kid.

"So you hit him?"

Jimmy looked up at her earnestly. "I promised I wouldn't bully the little kids, so I just told him I wasn't like him. Not only does he not have a mother, but he doesn't have a father either. Then he went crazy and attacked me."

Grace's lips twitched at the absurdity of it all.

Just as she was about to offer more words of comfort, a voice called from the doorway, "Miss Quinn, Jimmy's father is here."

Father?

Having taught this class for a year, Grace had only seen servants come to pick up the children. She had never met Jimmy's parents.

"It's okay. Your father is here," she said gently, stroking his cheek before standing up. She donned an official and friendly smile, extending her hand to the newcomer.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Amster. I'm Grace Quinn, Jimmy's teacher. There was just a little accident..."

Before she could finish, her gaze locked on the man stepping into the room, illuminated by the light behind him.

Dressed in a sharp suit and leather shoes, he exuded an air of noble detachment. His features were chiseled, his eyes sharp and penetrating.

His gaze shifted from Jimmy to Grace, and his large, rough hand grasped the delicate one he had touched many times before.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Quinn," he said, his voice deep and smooth.