The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

It was only now that Celia truly understood—she had been wrong. Nathaniel and Sylvia were husband and wife. Of course... they'd be expected to have a married life.

Celia panicked. She began to struggle, placing her small hands firmly against his solid chest, trying to push him away."

The man's body was like a wall—unyielding, strong, and pressing down on her without mercy.

Celia didn't want this. She didn't want to be Sylvia's stand-in. She was the one he hated most—the "little maid" he found beneath contempt!

"I said let go!" she cried, biting the corner of his lips hard.

"Hiss—"Nathaniel flinched at the sting and finally released her.

He wiped the blood from his lower lip with the back of his hand, the red stark against his skin."You bit me?" His voice dropped a degree colder, laced with disbelief and restrained anger.

Celia's face flushed crimson with shame. She dared not meet his eyes."I…"

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you say you've been waiting for me these past two years? That you've always liked me?"

That wasn't her. That was something Sylvia had said.

Celia's mouth opened, but no words came out. Then, an idea sparked—she clutched her belly."I'm not rejecting you… it's just... I'm on my period. It's not a good time."

"Really?" Nathaniel looked skeptical.

Celia nodded earnestly, trying to appear as sincere as possible."Of course it's true."

Nathaniel seemed to accept that, at least for now. His large hand slid gently over her abdomen, circling softly."Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No," she murmured, curling up against him, slowly allowing her tense body to relax.

Then, his deep, velvety voice rumbled near her ear."But even during your period… kissing's still allowed, right?"

Before she could react, his body pressed closer, and his lips captured hers once more.

His scent enveloped her—a clean, masculine fragrance like cedarwood, expensive cologne, and something purely him. It clouded her senses, made her dizzy.

Celia instinctively grabbed onto the fabric of his pajamas, her mind blank with panic and uncertainty.

Nathaniel didn't close his eyes. He kept them fixed on her. Her wide, startled gaze shimmered under the low light like that of a frightened deer—clear, pure, untainted.

Something flickered behind his narrowed eyes, a dangerous red glint dancing there.

He pulled back slightly, his voice hoarse with a question he probably shouldn't have asked:"Have you ever kissed another man?"

Why would he ask that?

Celia's face turned crimson. She didn't know how to answer. Aside from that night… she'd never had any physical contact with anyone.

Nathaniel studied her expression and understood. She hadn't. He remembered the blood on the bedsheet that night—her first time. That alone proved her innocence. She hadn't even kissed anyone else.

Sylvia was too clean, too untouched.

He, on the other hand, had not been with anyone for years. But he was still a thirty-year-old man—fully aware of what he wanted, and what that desire meant.

Looking at the innocent girl beneath him, he felt a strange tenderness stir in his heart. At least she wasn't like that little maid—careless, unprincipled, always teasing men as if her affection meant nothing.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, kissing her again. "I won't hurt you."

This time, he kissed her slowly, deliberately. His lips moved with reverent care, crushing hers with a gentleness that unraveled her defenses.

Celia clutched the fabric over his chest again, twisting it between her fingers. But now, he caught her hand and pressed it gently down onto the mattress. His long fingers laced between hers, interlocking them completely—skin to skin.