Bert walked over with a smile.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going to wash your hair, so I didn’t have the dryer ready."
He kept apologizing in that calm, gentlemanly manner of his. Catherine, irritated, snatched the hair dryer from him and rushed into the bathroom to dry her hair. But flustered and annoyed, she fumbled with the plug, failing to get it into the socket several tis in a row.
Soone reached out from behind and gently took hold of the hand she was using to plug it in, helping her guide it smoothly into place.
The hair dryer was taken from her hand as well. He clearly ant to dry her hair for her.
Catherine hurriedly stepped back in resistance.
"I can do it myself—"
He ignored her protest, removed the towel wrapped around her damp hair, and began blow-drying it, his large hand working through her hair with practiced ease. Catherine couldn’t dodge him or escape. Trapped in the corner of the bathroom by his tall fra, she could only let him gently dry her hair.
It was a first for her.
Perhaps because she had grown up relying solely on Renata, Catherine—despite her delicate appearance—was never truly fragile inside. On the contrary, she was resilient, firm, and unyielding. That was why she rarely carried the ntality of a pampered girl, nor did she habitually rely on others, especially n.
Even when she had been with Gerald, she had shouldered most things herself, solving problems on her own without ever thinking of leaning on him. Gerald had once complained about it, saying that her strength made his role as a boyfriend feel utterly unnecessary.
So although Catherine had been in a relationship before, she had never truly experienced being cared for.
But since eting Bert, she realized she had always been the one being protected. From the very beginning until now, he had been quietly, unobtrusively looking after her—every step of the way.
A woman isn’t inherently strong. She becos strong only because she has never t a man powerful enough to protect her.
Standing in front of Bert now, Catherine felt utterly like a girl.
She never imagined that Bert would even dry her hair for her. She thought it was embarrassingly indulgent—and yet, even as she felt that way, her heart overflowed with sweetness, softening beyond asure. Surely no woman could resist the feeling of being cherished like this.
Leaning halfway into his arms, feeling the steady strength of his heartbeat, sensing his large hand move gently through her hair, Catherine felt dizzy with happiness—so much so that she could almost fall asleep.
She was suddenly afraid that this was all a dream. A dream so beautiful that once she woke up, nothing would remain.
Her hair, naturally black and silky, untouched by dye or perm, fell smoothly over her shoulders once he finished drying it. Paired with the soft lavender outfit, she looked even more gentle and refined, stirring nothing but tenderness in the heart.
Bert’s gaze burned as he looked at her.
Catherine, blushing, murmured, "Thank you."
Then she quickly added,
"Our colleagues are still waiting downstairs. We should go down."
The corner of his lips curved slightly.
"They’ve already waited this long. A little longer won’t make a difference."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he leaned down and captured her soft lips, kissing her gently.
His hand locked around her waist, pressing her back against the sink behind her as the kiss deepened, claiming her sweetness more and more intensely. Catherine’s body softened completely. Between faint, breathless sounds, she was utterly unable to withstand his passion, clutching tightly at his clothes just to steady herself.
When the kiss finally ended, Catherine leaned against Bert, breathing softly. From the very beginning until now, she had been powerless to resist this relationship—passive the entire ti, allowing him to control every rhythm. When he wanted to see her, they t. When he wanted to kiss her, he did.
She had refused—yet he never heeded her refusals.
Now, she felt as though she had given up struggling altogether. At this mont, she found herself thinking: fine. Let it be this way. Let her accept his love—and allow herself to love him in return. After loving a man like him, even if they didn’t end up together, she doubted she could ever love another man again.
Her transformation—from resistance to the way she now nestled obediently in his arms—was sothing Bert naturally noticed. A smile flickered in the depths of his eyes. His hand slid through her soft hair, his thumb resting against her smooth cheek as he gently brushed it.
"Let’s go downstairs," he said softly. "The banquet is about to begin."
The reminder made Catherine imdiately rember her situation, and a headache blood instantly. She stayed buried in his arms, refusing to move. She had no idea how she was supposed to face all those colleagues downstairs.
Bert, of course, could read her thoughts easily. He asked gently,
"Don’t want to go down?"
Originally, he had arranged for another way to let his employees know about their relationship today. Who would have thought that before he even got the chance, she herself had already made it obvious.
That really wasn’t his fault. He was innocent. He hadn’t expected her to wash her hair either.
Perhaps it was fate that they were ant to be together. He had been carefully plotting every step, and she had unknowingly cooperated at every turn. If they didn’t end up together, it would simply defy reason.
Faced with Bert’s question, Catherine remained silent.
He spoke again, his voice laced with amusent.
"Later, I’ll go down and explain for you. I’ll say you accidentally got dirty while helping out, so you washed up a bit—"
Catherine abruptly lifted her head from his chest, pouting her red lips as she glared at him indignantly. Even if that were the truth, no one would believe it now.
Bert shifted both his tone and the subject.
"Don’t you think that instead of such a flimsy explanation, it would be better to simply admit our relationship?"
Catherine flushed, stubbornly retorting,
"Who says I have a relationship with you?"
"Oh?" he replied lightly. "You don’t?"
He narrowed his eyes and shot the question back at her.
"If we’re not involved, then why did you help prepare the ingredients for today? If we’re not involved, then why did you kiss ? Don’t tell you don’t like it."
Catherine was forced backward step by step. He gave her no room to retreat, pressing her all the way into the corner. His handso face leaned close, his voice low and dangerously alluring as he pursued the answer.
"Catherine."
"Tell —what am I to you?"
In that charged atmosphere, his words beca even more provocative. Catherine’s heart trembled again and again. She bit her lip, looked at him—and then suddenly shoved him away and ran out.
He was really too much.
He knew perfectly well that she wasn’t ready to be with him, yet he kept forcing her to acknowledge it.
Bert stood there, watching her retreating figure, then shook his head with an amused smile.
Fine. Enough pushing.
Things had already reached this point. Whether she admitted it or not didn’t really matter anymore. He knew it. She knew it. And the people downstairs knew it even better.
Catherine went downstairs, bracing herself. What greeted her was a roomful of colleagues doing their best to pretend nothing had happened. It was obvious everyone had noticed her earlier embarrassnt and was now trying hard to smooth things over.
Bert followed shortly after and ca to a stop beside Catherine, casting her a aningful glance. After saying a few brief words, the so-called welco party officially began.
Since Bert was the head chef, he headed straight to the kitchen once he finished speaking.
The mont Bert left, Silvia imdiately sidled up to Catherine, giving her a thumbs-up and whispering in awe,
"Cici, you’re incredible. You actually landed our big boss!"
Catherine felt like crying.
To be honest, she didn’t even know what Bert saw in her. He clearly had far better options.
Her "landing" him was a complete myth. She hadn’t done anything at all. If anyone had done the conquering, it was Bert who had conquered her.
Silvia suddenly sucked in a breath.
"Oh my god—then I can’t talk to you like this anymore. You’re the future boss’s wife."
The words future boss’s wife nearly gave Catherine a heart attack. She quickly grabbed Silvia and whispered urgently,
"Stop it. Don’t talk about that. It’s way too early for that."
A future boss’s wife? Even if she and Bert really were dating, that didn’t an they’d end up getting married.
"Oh, okay, okay."
Silvia nodded repeatedly, then her gaze shifted to Catherine’s outfit. Her eyes lit up instantly.
"Wait—this outfit is gorgeous. Why have I never seen you wear this before?"
As a fashion designer, Silvia had a sharp eye for clothing. Earlier, all her attention had been on the chemistry between Catherine and Bert, and she hadn’t had ti to look closely. Now that she did, she reacted as if she’d found treasure, practically itching to peel the outfit off Catherine to study it properly.
The color was perfect. The fabric was perfect. The cut was even better. On Catherine, it elevated her presence by several levels in an instant.
Catherine was completely stumped by the question. Washing her hair had already been embarrassing enough—if she added that she’d changed clothes at Bert’s house, Silvia would probably explode.
But before Catherine could respond, Silvia stroked her chin thoughtfully and continued,
"The more I look at this, the more it feels like Lord Washington’s style. Don’t tell ... he designed this for you?"
Catherine fell silent.
What was there left for her to say? Silvia had already guessed it herself.
When Catherine didn’t respond, Silvia imdiately knew she was right.
Her face filled with envy as she exclaid,
"Oh my god, Cici, you’re so lucky. You actually get to wear clothes personally designed by the big boss."
Catherine hurried to say,
"But he designs plenty of clothes, doesn’t he? Anyone can buy and wear them."
Silvia shook her head.
"That’s completely different. This outfit fits you way too perfectly. One look and you can tell it was custom-made just for you."
After saying that, Silvia added,
"By the way... how does Lord Washington even know your size?"
That question left Catherine flustered. Right—how did Bert know her asurents? She’d noticed the mont she put the outfit on that it fit her uncannily well.
"I’ve got it!"
Before Catherine could work out an explanation, Silvia suddenly broke into a mischievous smile and leaned in to whisper,
"You two must’ve slept together. The boss personally asured you, that’s how he knows so precisely."
Catherine’s face flushed scarlet. She ground her teeth and glared at Silvia.
"Silvia, you’re a woman too—how can your mind be full of such nonsense all day long?"
"We haven’t done anything like what you’re talking about!"
She explained herself with righteous indignation.
She didn’t know that the man from two years ago had been him. She didn’t know that the last ti she got drunk, he had kissed her—and that he had personally taken her asurents then, morizing every detail, from her waist and hips to her chest.
"Tut, tut—"
Silvia laughed as she looped her arm through Catherine’s.
"What’s there to be embarrassed about? We’re all consenting adults. That kind of thing is perfectly normal."
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