Katubari

* At night
He was rugged and untamed. That one steamy night left Grace utterly captivated. She coyly stretched out her dainty, snow-white feet, hooking them around his waist as she softly laid down her terms:
For the first time, no staying overnight.
The second time, the moment he got himself a significant other, she'd vanish from his side.
Later on, their liaison would remain strictly on a physical level.
No strings of money attached, no emotional fetters, just the most primal and unadulterated desires that flared up when night fell, entwining them like a web spun by countless spiders.
And once the moment had passed, she'd straighten her skirt and turn her back on him, cold as ice.
*During daytime
He was the heir to a vast business empire, now impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, exuding an air of aristocratic reserve. He extended his hand to her with a polite smile, 
“Hello, Grace.”
Grace gritted her teeth in secret dismay. She hastened to call off whatever was brewing between them, only to find herself cornered against the dressing room by the man, with no way out.
In that cramped space, he was a relentless predator, and she, his irresistible quarry. His firmness pressed against her soft curves, setting every inch ablaze.
Outside the door, her female colleagues were swooning over his chiseled abs.
Just a thin partition away, he locked his arm around her willowy waist, seized her delicate hand, and guided it to rest on his taut abdomen, his voice dripping with a sultry allure, “Thought you could slip away? It's far too late for that.”

Dangerous: Don't cross the line!

Grace Quinn landed a hard slap on Alex Hoffman's face.

"Are you daring to hit me?" Alex seethed with anger.

William Gutten, who was still moving the paintings, couldn't believe the usually gentlemanly Alex would resort to violence against a woman. He wanted to save Grace but it was too late.

Jimmy despised himself for still being a child, unable to stop Alex from charging towards his loved teacher.

Before the slap could land on Grace's face, a hand caught hold of Alex's.

Underneath the black suit sleeve, a Richard Mille silver wristwatch with eight digits gleamed in the sunset, a price tag beyond the reach of most in the country.

The expensive watch sparkled with a cold light under the setting sun, much like the cold aura exuding from its pristine-faced owner.

Seeing that face, Alex's arrogance from before disappeared in an instant, replaced by fear as he stuttered, "Uncle John?"

Protect