Why are you here

Upon hearing this, Grace Quinn immediately reached out, covering his thin lips and refusing, "No, you don't." A glimmer of amusement appeared in the man's eyes. He removed her hand and clarified, "I meant I want to drive you home; it's late."

Grace's cheeks flushed, realizing her mistake. She replied coldly, "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Amster. However, our relationship is complicated. Further contact could cause trouble for my work." She pulled his hand away, maintaining her expressionless facade. "It's late. You should get some rest."

She got into the car, quickly starting the engine.

Once home, she took a shower and opened a bottle of red wine, settling on the terrace to sip and enjoy the night view. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a news notification:

"Powerful Alliance! Marriage between the Hoffman and Quinn Families!"

The article featured her ex-boyfriend, Alexander Hoffman, dining with her sister-in-law, Susan Quinn, as the sun set behind them. Shrugging it off, she set her phone down, only to be interrupted by a call from her mother.

"Have you seen the news about Alex's engagement?" her mother's angry voice crackled through the line.

"Yeah," Grace replied flatly.

"He was supposed to be the best option for you! How could Susan take him from you? What can I expect from you now? This is shameful! I've found you a wealthy blind date. You better not miss it when he returns to the country!"

Grace fought back annoyance, questioning if this woman could really be her mother. She had always been harsh, attacking her with cruel words whenever things went wrong.

When the tirade finally ended, Grace said slowly, "Mom, I don't want to date or get married right now."

"Are you going to be a pathetic single woman? Do you want me to be humiliated by that witch Mariah forever? Get a beauty treatment and wait for my call about the blind date!"

Grace hung up after an hour of relentless scolding. To her mother, nothing mattered more than marrying off her daughter to a rich man.

As she drank the remaining wine, Grace felt a deep loneliness. She wasn't sad about Alex's betrayal; it was her broken family that hurt the most.

In moments like this, she used to text that man, and he would reply with a room number, leading to late-night rendezvous. But now, John Amster was the father of her student, someone she could no longer involve herself with.

Pouring another glass, she savored it under the moonlight. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, shattering her solitude.

To her shock, John Amster's handsome face appeared on the video doorbell. She thought she might be hallucinating. When she opened the door, he stood there in a black windbreaker.

"Why are you here?" she asked, bewildered.

John held up a tube of ointment. "You got hurt at my place. I should be responsible."

His gaze took in her appearance—she wore a white bathrobe tied loosely at her waist, her hair cascading over her shoulders. The faint scent of wine lingered in the air.

"I'm fine, thank you. Just give me the medicine, and you can leave, Mr. Amster." She reached for the ointment but attempted to close the door.

John's long leg blocked the door, and he stepped inside, shutting it behind him.

The dim light from the wall lamp cast shadows across the room. Grace frowned. "Mr. Amster, please leave. I'll call security if you don't."

In response, John bent down, effortlessly scooping her up with one arm under her knee and the other around her back, carrying her to the sofa.

Once there, he removed his coat, revealing a black vest that showcased his muscular physique. He knelt beside her, seizing her ankle with a commanding grip. "Don't move."

With his grip, he nearly revealed what lay beneath her bathrobe. Grace, feeling both anger and vulnerability, refrained from moving.

She stomped her foot on his thigh, only to find it as unyielding as iron. John examined the bruised skin of her knee, his brow furrowing in concern. "You didn't apply any medicine today?"

"It's just a small injury... Ouch..."

As he applied the ointment, Grace winced, tears forming in her eyes. Perhaps it was the wine, but she whispered softly, "John, it hurts. Be gentle..."

His gaze darkened with desire, a wave of heat surging within him. He truly wanted to...