The acrid stench of smoke filled the air.
In the distance, a building was ablaze.
People were running through the streets, so calling out for loved ones.
Ambulance and firetruck sirens scread nonstop.
It was chaos—but not much different from when he had first arrived in Britain a month ago.
What was different?
When he first crossed over into this world, Pierre had brought with him not just confusion, but also that familiar old trait: poverty.
But now?
The confusion was gone.
He was full of ambition.
And more importantly—he was rich. Filthy rich.
Standing on the roadside, watching the post-apocalyptic scene before him, Pierre pulled a cigarette from his gold case, flicked it against the lid a couple of tis, and lit up.
The smoky flavor mingled with the scent of gunpowder in the air— it hit just right.
The Brits? Let them die for all he cared.
Well... maybe not all Brits.
Take Stanna, for example.
Sure, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but now... things were pretty good.
Thinking of her, he suddenly realized he hadn’t seen her since returning from the U.S.
The mory of her long, shapely legs—nearly 5’9"—flickered into his mind.
Desire stirred.
Without wasting another second, he turned and headed to her place.
He unlocked the door and was instantly hit by the sll of sothing delicious.
Steak—seared and sizzling.
On the table, a bottle of red wine had already been opened.
His lips curled up.
"This girl sure knows how to enjoy life."
The steak and wine were both gifts he’d brought from Arica.
Thanks to his storage space, the at was still as fresh as ever.
He crept toward the kitchen silently.
There she was—dressed in a silk nightgown, the hem just barely covering her very generous curves.
Entranced by the seductive view, Pierre didn’t hesitate.
He strode over, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and kissed her neck.
Of course, his hands didn’t behave themselves either.
"Miss , darling?"
The woman’s body went stiff.
She stood there frozen, not responding.
Eyes still closed, Pierre continued kissing along her neck and collarbone.
But as his hands road further, he suddenly paused.
"Strange... You feel different. Shorter, too..."
"Ahh!"
A scream snapped his eyes open.
Only then did he realize—this wasn’t Stanna.
It was another woman. Beautiful, yes.
But very much not the one he thought he was seducing.
They both blurted out at the sa ti:
"Who are you—uh..."
As the woman gasped, Pierre quickly pulled his hands away from where they definitely shouldn’t have been.
The woman’s clothes were disheveled.
Pierre stared, dumbfounded.
Who was this?
Why was she here?
Wait—had he gone into the wrong apartnt?!
"Darling, is the steak ready?"
A familiar voice called from behind.
The woman in front of him—now hastily tightening her robe—flushed as she heard the voice.
Her curves only looked more enticing once tied up.
Feeling his gaze, her irritation began to rise.
Who is this man?
How did he get in here?
Why the hell is he acting like this?
Before she could voice her confusion, a scent of perfu wafted in— and Stanna flung herself into Pierre’s arms.
"Darling, you’re back from Arica!"
So this was him!
He was French?
But... damn, he was handso.
His skin was tan and glowing with health— nothing like the sickly, pale British n she was used to.
The other woman—Julie—stared back and forth between Stanna and her man, feeling a flood of complicated emotions.
Not just because of his... enthusiastic hands a mont ago, but because—he really was stunning.
Unable to look them in the eyes anymore, she turned to the steak.
Juicy and seared just right.
Much like... him.
My God!
What was she even thinking?
It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen n lately—she saw them every day— but it had been so long since she’d seen one this young, this handso.
Taking a deep breath, Julie looked at Stanna and said,
"So... this is the spy you were talking about?"
Stanna’s face turned red.
"It was just a misunderstanding—"
Before she could explain, Pierre cut in smoothly:
"A beautiful misunderstanding.
If it hadn’t happened, I never would’ve t Stanna."
He turned to look at her.
What did a little misunderstanding matter now?
She’d already been thoroughly educated—more than once.
A man must be magnanimous.
"Darling..."
Stanna’s eyes sparkled.
If Julie hadn’t been in the room, she probably would’ve already leapt onto him and resud her "education."
Watching her best friend practically drool over this man, Julie couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy.
But seeing Stanna’s flushed face and shallow breathing, she set the dishes aside and said
"I’ll go wash up. You two chat."
She gathered the plates and headed into the kitchen.
The mont she disappeared, Stanna wasted no ti. She climbed into Pierre’s lap, breathing heavily.
"Darling... kiss ."
Pierre glanced toward the kitchen.
"Not now. We’ve got company."
"Forget her," Stanna whispered, wrapping herself around him like a serpent.
"Her ho was bombed by the Germans. She’ll be staying here for a while.
"But if we stop now... we’ll both be disappointed."
She tangled herself around him with hunger in her eyes.
Their hot breaths and soft moans echoed through the apartnt— and right into Julie’s ears in the kitchen.
She’s really going at it...
Julie muttered to herself, gripping the sink.
She regretted everything.
Why had she co into the kitchen?
The next entire night, she lived in regret.
And like a German air raid, it never let up.
They even talked about her.
Dear God...
But God wasn’t listening.
Not until the early hours of dawn did the bombing finally cease.
By midday, the two people in bed finally stirred.
Pierre blinked open his eyes lazily, gazing at the ss of clothes strewn across the floor and the lingering warmth beside him.
Only then did he rember how wild last night had been.
"Stanna..." he murmured, giving her a light tap on the shoulder.
Still half-asleep, she mumbled, "No more... not again... Julie’s outside..."
So open-minded?
Funny, she’d said sothing similar last night too...
Just thinking about Julie’s half-loosened robe from the night before stirred sothing in him again.
Maybe it was worth considering.
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