Chapter 36

Giselle switched on the light just in time to meet the man’s eyes.

Donovan stared at her from the bed, not blinking, as if afraid she’d disappear if he did. He couldn’t be sure if the woman in front of him was real or a figment of his imagination.

His heart raced, and his throat felt tight. His words were stuck as he continued to lock eyes with her.

The cigarette in his fingers continued to burn unnoticed until the embers singed his skin, causing him to toss the butt into the ashtray in surprise.

Seeing him flinch, Giselle smirked with open amusement. “You own properties worldwide. Why crash at my place?”

Hearing her voice, he finally realized she was real and not a fleeting illusion. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” he rasped, his voice rough.

Giselle smirked. “Relax. My life’s a disaster, but taking me down is as tough as reaching the stars,” she shot back at him. “I bet you’re feeling let down, huh?”

No one knew better than her how intensely this man hated her and how he wished for her demise. She pictured him breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing she had drowned in the lake.

Finally, he would be free from her torment, and tranquility would reign in his life. Yet, only a few days of peace had gone by, and here she stood—brought back from the dead and whole—right in front of him.

Donovan kept his gaze fixed on her, seemingly ignoring her words, and didn’t say anything. After a prolonged silence, he finally said in a deep, serious tone, “It’s good that you’re alive.”

He slipped one hand into his pocket, turned toward the door with an expressionless face, and walked away, his true feelings hidden from view. Watching his tall, broad figure vanish without emotion, Giselle inhaled deeply, feeling a tightness in her chest, an indescribable sense of oppression weighing on her.

Just as he was about to leave the living room, Donovan unexpectedly turned back.

“Why did you stop?” Giselle shot him a deliberate glare, muttering under her breath, “Just leave. The farther away, the better.”

He halted for a few seconds, then strode back to her. Suddenly, he grabbed her hair roughly and yanked her head back.

Before she could respond, his lips crashed onto hers, fiercely drawing the breath from her lungs. The kiss was so intense it left her unable to think or breathe, giving her no chance to gasp.

Giselle had never been kissed with such wildness. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. Just as she began to give in, he abruptly broke the kiss. With a rough shove, he pushed her onto the bed.

Turning onto his side, he squeezed his eyes shut in clear irritation. “Why did you play this twisted trick on me?”

“What trick?”

“You’re alive, then you’re alive! What’s with the ghost act these past few days?”

Upon observing him, Giselle finally understood that her disappearance over the past few days had truly disturbed him.

A closer examination of his features showed that his once-handsome face had grown noticeably gaunt, with fatigue clearly visible under his eyes and in the creases of his forehead. He appeared like someone who hadn’t been eating or sleeping well, overwhelmed by intense emotional fatigue.

Was it possible that her death, or those five days, had genuinely impacted his mood?

She was determined not to be swayed by such ambiguous, shallow emotions. Instead, she strategically wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“Alright, I admit it’s my fault. So, tell me. How would you like me to make it up to you?”