It was late at night, so quiet it was almost eerie.
The dim streetlights streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on Emily Grace’s delicate face.
All she could hear was her own racing heartbeat, loud and chaotic.
Pressed close to the wall, she carefully lifted her small feet, moving slowly.
When she finally made it to Richard Allen’s bedroom door, she took a deep breath, clasped her hands together, traced a cross over her chest, and whispered a silent “please bless me” to Buddha.
No matter what, tonight she was determined — she was gonna sleep with her husband.
Do or die.
And if all else failed... well, she’d just pretend this never happened.
Her grip on the doorknob tightened, slowly and quietly turning it all the way.
The second it clicked — “creak” — Emily almost let out a scream. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes squeezing shut in panic.
The tiny sound echoed in the dead-silent room. Her heart nearly broke out of her chest. Her face scrunched up into a wince instantly.
No way... she just wanted one night with her own man — she couldn’t crash and burn even before she got started.
Frozen at the doorway, she didn’t dare make another move.
She waited, like bracing for a judge’s verdict.
Time passed. Nothing happened. Emily finally let out a tiny, shaky breath.
She peeked open her bright starry eyes, a sneaky little smile tugging at her lips. In the darkness, she groped her way forward, trying to remember the layout of the room.
Bit by bit, she zeroed in on her target.
Step by careful step, she tiptoed toward the big bed against the south wall. Then — “bam”— she knocked her leg hard against the corner of a table.
Her whole face twisted from the pain. It hurt like hell, but she kept her mouth shut.
All that ran through her head was—
Did Richard hear that? If he did, how the heck was she gonna explain?
Should she say it was too hot tonight, so she came over to kill a mosquito?
Would he buy it? Even she had trouble believing it.
After that mini mental breakdown, Emily realized she’d worried for nothing — he hadn’t moved an inch.
She calmed herself down, gave herself a mental pep talk, and inched closer.
Skirting around the desk again, she finally reached the bedside. Her fingers trembled with excitement.
Hold it together. Just hang on a bit more!
But a goofy grin still crept onto her lips.
It had been a whole month. Aside from their wedding day, she hadn’t gotten this close to him at all.
In the dark, her eyes lit up like twin fireballs. If not now—when?
She tugged off her robe, tossed it beside her, and braced herself against the bed, carefully climbing on.
Bit by bit, she inched toward the man lying there. When she was just a fist-width away, she turned to face him.
His breath brushed against her face, warm and real. Her breathing went ragged.
Her right hand, practically itching with anticipation, landed on the soft fabric of his pajamas.
Fingers trembling, she fumbled with the buttons. One, two — she got them all undone.
Her fingertips touched his firm skin underneath — oh my god, that muscle. So much for "he looks skinny in clothes". Who knew he was hiding a body like that?
She was so hyped she didn’t notice the change in the rhythm of his breathing.
Eyes glued to his chest, mouth gone dry, Emily swallowed hard.
Then — “snap” — the lights flicked on, flooding the room in brightness.
She squinted against the sudden glare, completely caught off guard.
On the bed, Richard calmly glanced at her — and saw Emily, dressed in barely-there silk sleepwear, her curves on full display.
His frown deepened. Those dark, bottomless eyes locked on her with no emotion.
“What are you doing?”
