The whole afternoon had passed without Lilian being bothered, and when she finally woke from her nap, she felt noticeably refreshed. She took a shower, carefully applied her makeup, and changed into a dress. Tina had reminded her over the phone to dress nicely—advice Lilian didn’t mind following. After all, Tina was a fashion powerhouse; her standards for appearance were notoriously high.
So Lilian took her ti, crafting a cute yet elegant look. She chose her favorite soft pink dress and finished her look with a playful, polished makeup. When she finally deed herself ready, she headed for the door.
A knock ca imdiately. Morrison’s voice floated through.
"It’s . Returning your charger."
Lilian opened the door and was t with his unabashed gaze sweeping over her. The look was equal parts admiration and heat, leaving her montarily stunned.
Annoyed, she snatched the charger from his hands and shifted the focus of his gaze.
"Not even a ’thank you’ when you borrow sothing?" she asked, her tone sharp.
Morrison reluctantly tore his eyes away from her.
"Thank you," he said, soft but lingering.
Then, with that ever-so-slightly teasing curl of his lips, he added,
"To show my gratitude... how about dinner tonight? My treat."
Lilian’s expression remained indifferent.
"Sorry, I already have plans tonight."
And with that, she shut the door, leaving him outside.
What she didn’t see was the thoughtful smile spreading across Morrison’s face. She had no idea that the "plans" she referred to were, in fact, the very dinner he had orchestrated.
It wasn’t manipulation—at least not exactly. Morrison believed they needed a proper setting to talk, to finally clear the air. Whether it was about his past mistakes or planning for the future, he wanted honesty. He needed to know what was truly in her heart. One thing was certain: she still had feelings for him. But why had she kept rejecting him? That, he needed to understand.
After retrieving her charger, Lilian couldn’t help but recall Morrison earlier, dressed in a suit, seemingly on his way to an evening event. Was he going sowhere tonight too? Sothing felt off, but she refused to let her mind dwell too much on him, so she let it go.
Soon, Tina’s driver arrived downstairs and called to inform her he had co to pick her up. Lilian grabbed her bag and left, the car driving smoothly toward the restaurant.
Following Tina’s instructions, she found the private dining room and pushed the door open—only to discover Morrison already seated inside. Tina, it seed, had vanished completely.
Lilian froze for a mont, then pieced it together: this dinner had been a little sche between Morrison and Tina. The real guest she was ant to et tonight was... Morrison.
Her frustration spiked further when she noticed his light pink shirt. It matched her dress perfectly, as if they were dressed as a couple. If they stood together, it would have looked almost staged.
She was certain he had been wearing a white shirt when he returned her charger earlier.
How had he managed to plan this so ticulously? Every detail seed intended to gain an advantage over her.
Fuming, Lilian gritted her teeth and turned to leave—but Morrison wouldn’t let her.
He stepped forward and covered her hand resting on the door handle with his own.
"Lilian..."
"Let’s talk, okay?" His voice was low, magnetic, brushing against her ear.
"All this... all this scheming of mine, it’s just because I want to have dinner with you. To talk. That’s all."
Lilian struggled, trying to pull her hand away.
"I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to say anything to you," she said, her voice tense, eyes sharp.
Morrison simply wrapped her fully in his arms, his voice deepening, smooth and magnetic.
"Are you sure you don’t want to talk to at all?" he murmured, pressing closer.
Before Lilian could respond, he continued, almost as if reading her mind.
"I know you still have feelings for . Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let into the house when it was raining in Arica. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have lent your charger just because you worried I’d miss an important call—"
"You’re lying!"
Her voice cracked, sharp and unsteady as she interrupted him, rising an octave in indignation.
"I don’t have feelings for you! I haven’t had feelings for you for a long ti!"
"Stop deluding yourself!"
She raised her voice even more, as if shouting loud enough could convince herself of the truth.
Morrison gently turned her around, so she was facing him squarely. His intense gaze held hers. Her face, frad by delicate makeup, looked softer, warr, more beautiful than ever. He let out a low, heartfelt sigh.
"I know... I’ve hurt you too deeply," he said.
"I’m not asking for excuses or explanations," he continued, his voice steady but full of yearning. "I just hope you’ll give another chance. Even if you don’t accept imdiately, that’s fine. Just... don’t avoid . Don’t push away."
Finally, here was a quiet mont, a chance to speak his heart fully, and Morrison refused to waste a single second.
"They say ti proves everything, right? Then test . Take all the ti you need. However long you want to test , I’ll endure it."
He sighed again, a low, almost tender sound.
"Because... my life, I’ll spend it on you."
Lilian murmured, trying to sound indifferent.
"Why do you make yourself sound so pitiful? No one’s forcing you to waste your life on ."
Morrison let out a quiet, low chuckle.
"Fine, fine. No one’s forcing . I chose this myself."
For Morrison, even hearing her speak without anger or imdiate rejection—that alone was the best possible result he could hope for.
So he didn’t push anymore. He simply let her be, his gaze soft, almost indulgent, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"But right now," he said gently, voice warm, "the urgent matter is... should we fill our stomachs first? We’ve been here a while, and I’m starving."
asured.
Calm.
Patiently guiding.
These three phrases were now his mantra, the three rules he repeated to himself whenever he thought about winning her back. Of course, there was one more unspoken rule: persistence—relentless, shaless persistence.
The day he called Jacob for advice, Jacob had given him just four words: "Shalessly cling to her."
But those words were more than surface-level. It wasn’t about simple audacity—it was about loving soone so deeply that you would gladly lower yourself in front of her. Only for her. For anyone else, a proud man like Morrison would never bow, never act so shalessly, never cling.
Because she was her, and because of that, he could willingly abandon pride, status, even his face, and pester her without sha.
When you love soone truly, they beco your queen—and you are willing to be her servant.
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