“Don't... not here…”
Yvonne Jensen barely got the words out before a stifled moan slipped from her lips, echoing in the walk-in closet.
“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?”
His breath brushed hot against her ear, sending a jolt through her. Her cheeks flushed a fierce crimson, both angry and flustered, which only seemed to push the man further.
Tonight was Mr. Livingston’s birthday banquet. Practically the entire fifth branch of the Livingston family was gathered downstairs in the main hall.
She’d only come upstairs for a quick outfit change, and he’d cornered her into the closet like this.
Voices and footsteps were getting closer outside. Yvonne held her breath, heart racing.
He pulled her into the wardrobe, teasing her as he nibbled her earlobe. “We should really find a mirror. You need to see how you look right now.”
Light leaked in through the wardrobe slats.
Yvonne gave him a mortified glare. His features were sharp and composed—annoyingly good-looking.
Only when a knock sounded on the door did he finally pull back.
The wardrobe door swung open with a loud clatter. Yvonne collapsed onto the carpet, legs barely holding her up.
He stood there, calm and immaculate in his suit, not a hair out of place.
Compared to him, she looked a wreck—messy hair, swollen lips, and a ruined dress hanging off her shoulders.
“Knock, knock, knock!”
Someone kept knocking.
“Yvonne, are you ready?” Grace Matthews’ voice called through the door.
“I—I’m coming, Mom!” Yvonne cleared her throat and forced her voice steady.
“Hurry up!”
Only when she heard Grace’s footsteps move away did she finally exhale.
“Had fun?” Kenneth Livingston asked, holding her chin tightly, his gaze locked onto hers.
The pressure hurt—she winced.
“Can you please stop messing around?” she said through gritted teeth.
Kenneth gave a cold chuckle. “Really? Coming from you? Weren’t you the one who came onto me first?”
He wasn’t just anyone—he was Kenneth Livingston, the heir apparent of the family. Insanely powerful, dangerously good-looking, ruthlessly dominant.
And she? She was just the fifth branch’s foster girl—legally his cousin-in-law, no less.
Yvonne bit her lip, head lowered. She knew she had zero leverage against him.
“Come to me after the banquet,” he said after a pause, eyes boring into hers before he finally let go and walked away.
Yvonne stayed on the floor a while, waiting for the heat to drain from her cheeks before dragging herself up and changing into a new dress.
By the time she made it downstairs, the party was already in full swing.
The hall bustled with guests, laughter, and clinking glasses. Just her luck.
“What took you so long?” Grace appeared beside her, shooting a look of disapproval her way.
“I... wasn’t feeling well earlier,” Yvonne mumbled, instinctively trying to explain.
Grace cut her off, her tone sharp. “It’s your grandfather-in-law’s birthday. You don’t get to slack off over a little discomfort.”
“…”
“Come with me. Time to wish the old man a happy birthday.”
By the time they reached Mr. Livingston, he was already surrounded.
Kenneth was right there beside him, the perfect grandson, chatting effortlessly with the guests.
He had always been the golden boy—grandfather’s favorite, the family’s chosen heir, loved and praised by everyone.
Yvonne? She was nothing more than the fifth branch’s little foster bride.
Worse, people behind her back called her cursed—the girl whose fiancé died the night before their wedding.
Most didn’t even try to hide their disdain.
“Do you have any sense at all? Late to a birthday banquet like this? You really don’t know your place,” Grace murmured angrily at her.When Yvonne Jensen first moved into the fifth house of the Livingston family as a child bride, Grace Matthews actually treated her fairly well.
But everything changed after Adrian Livingston died—her would-be husband. Ever since then, her mother-in-law had a bone to pick with her about everything.
With both her husband and son gone, Grace’s place in the family was hanging by a thread. So, she dumped all her anger on Yvonne.
Yvonne had gotten used to the cold shoulder. She barely reacted to Grace's passive-aggressive jabs now. Her mind was still stuck on the last thing Kenneth Livingston had said to her.
He wanted her to go see him after the party.
But Yvonne didn’t want to.
She'd already texted him to end things for good.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, she suddenly felt a sharp gaze land on her. Instinctively, she looked up—and locked eyes with Kenneth’s deep, unreadable stare.
Her heart skipped.
Why was he looking at her like that... with everyone watching?
What if someone figured it out?
Her nerves kicked in, and she quickly looked away.
Her thoughts drifted back to a year ago.
Her fiancé, Adrian, had died in a car crash the day before their wedding. She was devastated, but everyone pointed fingers at her, throwing around that "husband-killer" label like it was gospel.
That night, she'd gotten completely drunk for once, kissed a stranger out of nowhere, and even dragged him into the restroom.
The next morning, she woke up to find out the guy was Kenneth Livingston—the Livingston heir himself.
Yvonne never dreamed she'd mess with someone like him.
He wasn’t just powerful—he was terrifying. Ice-cold demeanor, ruthless reputation.
She used to avoid him like the plague.
But that one night turned everything upside down.
After that, she tried breaking things off more than once—he never agreed.
But she couldn’t keep sneaking around like this. She was done.
A round of applause snapped her back to reality.
Mr. Livingston had taken the stage to speak.
"Since today is my birthday, I'll also share some good news. Kenneth will soon marry Lisa Fitzgerald, daughter of the Fitzgerald family..."
Yvonne felt like her brain short-circuited for a moment.
People immediately swarmed Kenneth to congratulate him.
She'd heard rumors that the family head was picking a bride for him.
Didn’t expect it to be so soon.
And now it was really happening—Kenneth was getting married.
Was this the end of whatever they had?
She couldn't even tell what she felt.
Maybe a little relieved, like she'd finally be able to breathe again.
The party dragged on till well past midnight.
Back at the guest wing with Grace Matthews, Yvonne was too tired to even think about Kenneth asking her to meet him that night—it had totally slipped her mind.
The next day, it poured nonstop in Jingdu.
By the time Yvonne finished work, the sky was already pitch-black.
She stood on the sidewalk, waiting for her ride, watching cars zip by in the rain.
Suddenly, two blinding headlights beamed straight at her.
She squinted against the glare.
A sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled up smoothly in front of her.
Before she could react, a man stepped out holding a black umbrella. He stood respectfully and said, “Miss Jensen, please get in.”
Yvonne didn’t move.
Through the tinted window, she could barely make out the faint shape of a man in the back seat.
They stayed like that—frozen—for a full minute.
Then the window rolled down halfway.
Half of Kenneth's sharp, angular face came into view.
Even in the dull light, his gaze carried a weight that made it hard to breathe.
When she didn’t budge, he lifted his chin a little, his voice low and cold as it cut through the rain:
“Not getting in? Want me to drag you in myself?”
