Chapter 10

Michael was well aware his actions had gone too far. He wanted to withdraw his hand, but his fingers disobeyed. Trailing down the strands beside her ear, his middle finger hooked slightly, brushing her earlobe.

In an instant, a series of subtle tremors climbed from her collarbone, erupting into a dazzling display of fireworks in Emily's mind. She realized she didn't resist Michael's slightly audacious gestures. Just like in the cramped Toyota earlier, she had multiple chances to evade or reject him.

When a hand, starkly different from her own skin tone, grazed her palm; when a breath, hot and close, enveloped her ear; when a tissue tenderly wiped away her tears...

The boundaries between them blurred with each intimate touch. Perhaps, from their first encounter, their relationship had been shifting subtly.

Michael finally withdrew his hand and stepped back, his voice deeper than before. "I'm going downstairs to get something to eat. Is there anything you'd like?"

Emily, having only eaten a sandwich at noon, felt her stomach rumble. But as they drew nearer to their "target," her mind was too consumed with a strange exhilaration to register hunger. She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

Predicting her response, Michael tried a different approach. "I'm starving. This is your area. Any restaurants you'd recommend?"

Emily ignored his question, switching the camera to video mode. Walking to the balcony railing, she pointed across the street. "Over there are two places—one fast food, one Chinese. The fast food joint has tender goose meat with generous portions, and the soup is quite rich. The Chinese place has great roast goose and barbecued pork rice, but at this hour, they might be out."

The streetlights below had begun to glow softly. Michael found it hard to look away, fixated on her smooth, rounded nails. The warm breeze stirred, igniting his craving for a smoke.

As she introduced the noodle shop, Emily's lips pursed slightly, her cheeks puffed. Michael took note.

"I'm heading down for some food." Michael pointed to the water bottle on the dining table. "Even if you're not hungry, drink some water. Your lips are getting dry."

At his words, Emily instinctively licked her lips, moistening them before quickly pulling back. "Okay, you go eat. The apartment access card is on the coffee table," she said. "I'll text you the password for the lock."

Michael was still dazed when he reached the roast meat shop. Emily's moment of lip-licking replayed in his mind. Her pale skin made her tongue look so red, and as it moistened her lips, they took on a richer hue.

He stood at the fast food shop's entrance, quickly finishing a cigarette to calm his swirling emotions before stepping inside.

Michael asked the owner if there was any food left. The owner replied, "You're in luck," and served him the last bowl. He devoured it in under ten minutes, chugging the remaining soup before grabbing his takeout and leaving.

A few more steps brought him to the Chinese place. After placing his order, he stepped outside for another cigarette. As he waited, he looked up, trying to locate the eighteenth-floor apartment, hoping for a glimpse of her silhouette.

But he saw nothing. The building was dark, with only a few scattered lights, none of which belonged to the person he sought.

"Your noodles are ready!" The shopkeeper's call snapped Michael back. He was startled by his own thoughts. Ash brushed his arm as it fell.

He walked briskly on the way back. As he waited for the elevator, he caught the scent of sweat, smoke, and gasoline on his clothes. It reeked, but Emily hadn't complained.

He detoured to the second basement to grab his luggage, then headed to the eighteenth floor. Entering the apartment, he set the takeout on the dining table, unwrapping it, and called to Emily, who was still on the balcony. "I got you something to eat. Have a bite."

"Oh, I said I wasn't hungry..." Emily protested but came over anyway.

Michael placed his bag by the sofa, asking, "Mind if I use your bathroom? I need to change. These clothes stink."

Emily sat at the table, unwrapping the plastic bowl. "Go ahead, but why not take a shower while you're at it?"

Michael paused, squinting slightly. "You don't mind?"

"Why should I—" Emily abruptly stopped herself. She really should mind...

Taking her silence as assent, Michael smirked. "Alright, I won't be shy then." He knelt to retrieve clothes from his bag.

His broad back and taut muscles stretched his T-shirt smoothly. The hem lifted slightly, the waistband of his jeans lowered, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the edge of his black underwear.

Emily stole a few glances before averting her eyes as he stood.

"The bathroom has towels you can use. I don't like using public ones, so I brought my own," she muttered.

"Really? Me too," Michael replied, heading to the bathroom with a nod. "Eat up."

"Okay."

The bathroom door closed, and her cheeks felt warmed by the steam. Emily sipped the broth, its rich flavor calming her frayed nerves.

As she took her first bite of noodles, it struck her: how did Michael know she wanted noodles?

In the bathroom, Michael let the cold water cascade over him, his mind wandering. Washing his hair, he felt a stir below, half-aroused.

He sighed, giving himself a light slap. "Behave."

The semi-hard flesh quivered as if in protest, becoming more rigid.

"Not the right time..."

He sighed again, dousing himself until the urge subsided. After what felt like ages, he toweled off, dressed, and emerged to find Emily finishing her meal.

He paused. "That was quick."

"You took too long..."

"Hmm."

Emily's eyes roved over him. He now wore a fitted black quick-dry T-shirt, outlining his muscular build—broad shoulders, defined chest, tapering to a narrow waist. His quick-dry shorts ended above his knees, revealing strong calves.

Tonight, Emily noticed, he had a lot of body hair, even on the tops of his feet.

Emily thought to herself as she headed to the stairwell to dispose of the garbage, akin to an unevolved chimpanzee.

There was an omnipresent, wild, primal surge of hormones.

Michael turned off the main light in the living room, leaving only the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light, and moved a dining chair to the balcony, sitting beside the tripod.

Upon returning to her room, Emily saw a man sitting there with his legs crossed and slippers dangling from his feet, as if they might fall off at any moment.

Michael pointed to the camera and said to her, "The kitchen is empty now; they're probably having dinner."

Thinking of the kitchenware she had collected over the years being touched by others, Emily felt as disgusted as if she had eaten a rotten egg.

It seemed she didn't feel as bad even when she found out Anderson was cheating.

Thinking this, Emily felt she was quite heartless.

Anderson wasn't as useful as the cupboards full of pots and pans.

Tonight, there was no moon, but the big city never lacked artificial lights. Neon lights poured in from all directions, illuminating Emily's face and her tightly pressed lips.

Michael understood her mood and waved her away, saying, "You've had a long day; go take a shower. I'll watch over here."

Emily pursed her lips. "If both of them appear together, you must take a photo."

Michael wiggled his legs. "Mm-hmm."

As Emily turned to leave, Michael suddenly called out to her, "Emily."

Emily turned back. "Yes?"

"My sister divorced before. The lawyer who handled her case was quite capable," Michael said seriously, "If you need it, I can get you the lawyer's contact information."

A burly figure of a man, sitting there like an immovable mountain, even though he looked a bit frivolous wiggling his legs, Emily felt a lot of reassurance from him.

She thanked him, "Yes, please get me the contact information."

Michael grinned widely at her, "No problem."

The sweat stuck to her body like an impermeable film, and although Emily still felt mentally exhausted, at least she felt physically comfortable.

She smelled the same as Michael.

It was the faint, refreshing scent of lemons soaked in ice water.

Emily dried her hair and walked out of the bathroom. The man who had just looked so casual was now standing with his back to her.

His hands were on his hips, legs apart, head bowed, and his back seemed tense.

Emily hurriedly asked, "What's wrong? Has Anderson shown up?"

Unexpectedly, Michael loudly stopped her, "Don't come over."

Emily's heart sank, but ignoring his obstruction, she walked quickly forward.

Michael turned to block her, frowning, "Emily, don't look."

Taking advantage of his height, he opened his arms and used his body to block the camera.

This time, Emily didn't listen to him and, like a cat on edge, finally squeezed under his arm to see the live picture on the camera screen.

The image was somewhat shaky and grainy, but she could still see clearly. There was a man and a woman standing by the kitchen sink.

Sophia was in front, still wearing Emily's apron. Anderson was behind her, his hands reaching into the apron, kneading and groping. Then, Sophia tilted her head back and kissed the man behind her.

Despite just taking a hot shower, in an instant, it felt like she had been thrown into a bucket of ice water.

The chill was bone-piercing, making Emily's heart and body tremble, teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"That's... that's my apron... my kitchen... why couldn't they just go to the room? Why in the kitchen?!"

Emily's voice grew louder, almost hoarse by the end.

However, her voice was drowned out by the wind in the tall building and the noise of cars below.

Although Michael had known Emily for several months and thought he knew her well, he had never heard her scream and lose control like this.

Feeling uneasy, he didn't want her to continue torturing herself. He wrapped his arms tightly around her soft waist and lifted her, guiding her into the living room, softly comforting her, "It's okay, it's okay... let's not look anymore, Emily, okay?"

Emily couldn't hear his words. Twisting left and right, she pulled his sports T-shirt so much that it became deformed, and her eyes became hot and red.

"Let me go! I want to see for myself, see how low he can sink!"

Despite Michael's size, she staggered him with her pull, but he still firmly held her waist.

Maybe it was because Emily had just come out of the shower, the heat from her body had not dissipated, and a thin layer of mist had formed on the lenses of her glasses.

Now scattered, now gathered, it covered her pebble-like eyes.

When they chatted during the day, Michael knew she was severely nearsighted. Without glasses, her vision was blurred, and she could only see clearly when people or things were close to her eyes.

So he gritted his teeth, raised his hand, took off her black-framed glasses, casually folded the temples, and threw them onto the coffee table.

There was a "click."

"What are you doing!" Emily exclaimed.

Without her glasses, the world instantly blurred, and she had to squint, "Give me back my glasses! I can't see!"

Michael kept one hand around her waist and pinched her chin with the other. A little pressure made her tilt up her white, clean face.

Then he lowered his head, staring into her eyes almost touching her forehead and nose. His tone was a bit forceful, "Can you see me up close like this? Hm?"

Emily shivered.

In an instant, reason returned, and she realized how hot this man was.

His body, his breath, even his voice were all scorching.

Yet his voice was so low, as if whispering like a demon.

"Emily, if you can't see, just don't see. Don't let them dirty your eyes."