The 10th Year of Unrequited Love

After years of marriage, Beatrice Jennings shamefully hesitated when she received a text from her first love.

[Bea, it's been five years. How are you? I'd like to see you...]

The sender was her ex-boyfriend, Lucius Jones. Five years can change many things—like the fact she was now married and trying to get pregnant.

Beatrice typed [I'm married now] but couldn't bring herself to send it. After a long moment, she deleted the sentence and simply replied: [Okay.]

It was time to finally close the chapter on their unfinished love story.

Back then, Lucius had taken a ten-million-dollar check from the Stuart family and abandoned their promises, disappearing overseas. She'd been forced to accept an arranged marriage to a man who didn't love her.

Lost in thought, she suddenly felt strong arms wrap around her waist, a warm chest pressing against her back. The familiar scent of cedar instantly enveloped her.

Beatrice startled, immediately turning off her screen and clutching the phone tightly.

"Weren't you on a business trip?" she asked nervously. "When did you get back?"

How long had he been home? Had he seen anything?

Frederick Stuart didn't answer. Instead, his scorching kiss landed on the side of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

"What are you looking at so intently?" His voice was sexy and raspy.

"N-nothing, just some work emails." She didn't turn around, afraid he'd see through her lie.

This Frederick was her husband, the man who had ruthlessly used ten million dollars to sever her relationship with Lucius years ago.

His powerful arms wrapped around her waist, turning her to face him before capturing her lips in a fierce kiss.

The blazing, inescapable kiss made Beatrice's body go weak. Her hands pushed against Frederick's broad chest, but her resistance only made the kiss more fierce.

He was much more aggressive than usual, lifting her nightgown and entering her roughly without waiting for her to be ready.

The shock of their bodies joining sent waves of pleasure through them both.

Usually, Frederick would wait for Beatrice to be ready before moving, but this time he showed no mercy, thrusting relentlessly.

"Stop..." she gasped, unable to handle the intensity.

A dark glint flashed in Frederick's eyes. Instead of stopping, he moved faster. He leaned forward, lifting her legs and pressing her body down to penetrate even deeper.

At the height of passion, Frederick whispered hoarsely in her ear, "Give me a child."

Beatrice froze, her heart twisting painfully. His passion for her was only to complete the task of having a child.

Five years ago, when the Jennings family business failed, her adoptive parents had tried to marry her off to a balding CEO in his fifties in exchange for funding.

Frederick had stepped in to save her. He had stood in the crowd, dignified and distant, simply stating, "I'll marry her."

During their marriage registration, she'd gathered her courage to ask, "Why me?"

Frederick had lit a cigarette, smoke blurring his handsome features. "My grandma is getting old and wants grandchildren. We've known each other a long time. You're familiar, a suitable choice for my wife."

He'd married her solely to have a child. She was just an expensive, suitable vessel he'd purchased to bear his children.

Under such frenzied lovemaking, Beatrice quickly reached her climax. Numbing pleasure flooded her brain, leaving her mind blank, her legs helplessly held in his strong hands.

Before she could recover, he embraced her again, his typically unfathomable eyes now heavy with desire.

"Once more," he said, beginning another round.

Frederick was acting strangely tonight, with a desperate intensity as if he wanted to exhaust her completely. After countless rounds, Beatrice was too spent to even lift her arms.

Frederick lounged against the headboard, lighting a cigarette. Between exhales, he opened his phone, his deep blue eyes lowered to the screen.

Beatrice glanced over and caught a fleeting glimpse of his lock screen—a girl in a white dress.

Was this the woman he'd loved for years but couldn't have?

Before their marriage, she'd heard rumors that Frederick had loved a girl for many years, remaining faithful despite her having a longtime boyfriend.

The golden boy, admired by countless wealthy heirs, was actually a hopeless romantic—gossip that had circulated through high society.

Perhaps still unable to let go of his true love, Frederick hadn't shown up on their wedding night. Beatrice had waited alone in the bedroom from dusk till dawn.

The day after their wedding, Frederick left on a business trip. They lived separate lives, and if not for living in Frederick's home, Beatrice might have thought the marriage was just an illusion.

Until one drunken night when Frederick mistook her for the woman he loved, and they had sex. After that, every month during her ovulation period, like completing a task, Frederick would return home punctually to sleep with her.

Sometimes Beatrice found her situation pathetic—the man she once loved had abandoned her, and her current husband loved someone else.

Beside her, Frederick was still intently looking at his phone. Beatrice fought through her weak legs to get up, intending to go to the guest room.

After just two steps, her knees suddenly gave out, and she began to fall forward.

The expected pain never came. Frederick's powerful arms caught her waist just in time, lifting her into his arms.

Beatrice was tossed back onto the soft bed. Frederick's tall figure covered her, trapping her beneath him.

"Beatrice," his voice was cold and deep, "are you that desperate to avoid sharing a bed with me?"

In the darkness, Beatrice's right ear buzzed with silence.

No one knew she was deaf in her right ear. As a child, her adoptive father had hit her while drunk, and she'd never been able to hear clearly from that ear again.

She hadn't caught Frederick's anger-laced question, only sensing his displeasure from his cold demeanor.

Was he angry? Did he want another round, or did he find her mood-killing?

Anxiety and insecurity overwhelmed her. Beatrice reached out, touching his arm lightly, her voice small and placating. "Are you angry?"

Frederick's body visibly stiffened.

Thinking her attempt at appeasement was working, she softened her voice further. "I'm sorry, don't be mad..."

She didn't realize that what she thought was appeasement was actually pouring fuel on Frederick's fire. What he wanted had never been her apologies and submission.

Frederick's fingers clenched suddenly. He leaned down, his hot breath on her face, but remained silent.

After what felt like forever, just as Beatrice was drifting off to sleep, Frederick lay down beside her.

He turned his back to her, presenting only a cold, hard silhouette.

"Go to sleep." His tone was deep and icy, devoid of any warmth.

Beatrice's heart sank. He was truly furious. She could feel the chill radiating from him, causing her to curl up on her side of the bed, maintaining a significant distance between them.

After she'd fallen into a fitful sleep, her phone lit up with a message containing an address.

Beatrice only saw the address the next morning. She went downstairs distractedly to find Frederick already seated at the dining table.

He wore an impeccable tailored suit, reading the financial newspaper. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes remained deep and unreadable.

It was as if the out-of-control, angry Frederick from last night had been just a dream.

After breakfast, Frederick received a phone call and left.

Beatrice didn't ask where he was going or when he'd return. Not interfering in his private life was another condition of their arranged marriage, and for years she had strictly followed the rules of being his wife.

But this time, she decided not to abide by their contract.