They forgot everything—anger, hatred, pride—lost in the storm they had unleashed. Sweat soaked their skin, and in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
Chapter 57
After their heated encounter, Giselle slipped into Donovan’s bathroom to shower first. Warm water cascaded down her skin as she closed her eyes, replaying the scene from moments ago. Satisfaction lingered in her body, but a complex swirl of emotions tugged at her mind.
Once she finished, she wrapped herself in a towel and wandered into his closet. Casually, she grabbed one of his shirts to wear as pajamas. She padded barefoot back into the bedroom and reached for the drinks the housekeeper had brought in earlier.
Donovan lay on the bed, shirtless, his head resting against the headboard as he smoked, a familiar habit. His gaze naturally drifted to Giselle. His usual shirt looked massive on her small frame. It draped over her figure, just long enough to conceal the essentials but still revealing her shapely legs. The white fabric was thin—almost sheer under the light—and the outline of her curves teased beneath the material.
His eyes darkened with desire. Despite what they had already shared earlier, seeing her like this stirred him all over again. Delle knew exactly what she was doing. Her body was her weapon, and she wielded it without hesitation. Even on the streets, when dressed boldly enough to turn heads and spark whispers, she never flinched. Confidence oozed from her every move, her delicate fingers tracing lines on his chest.
Noticing his smoldering gaze, she let out a soft chuckle and sauntered over to sit beside him. Leaning gently against him, she traced the hard lines of his chest.
“Mr. Kane,” she purred, “since you’re satisfied now, shouldn’t you give me an answer?”
Donovan exhaled smoke, his expression unreadable. He knew exactly what she meant. The matter between her and her family wasn’t simple, and no one understood that better than he did. No one had ever dared to threaten him before. But now, she was close to holding him in the palm of her hand. Even so, Donovan wouldn’t let her enjoy that power without a price.
He stayed silent for a long moment. Then, just as she moved to rest her head against his chest, he caught her by the head and held her gently but firmly in place.
“I might agree,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “But first, you’ll have to learn to be obedient.”
With the cigarette still smoldering in his right hand, his left hand pressed against her head, holding her steady.
“When you can listen without question, when you can submit without games… then we’ll talk. Everything will depend on your performance.”
Giselle blinked, momentarily stunned. She finally understood. Donovan was tired of her arrogance. He wasn’t rejecting her request outright. Instead, he was forcing her to yield, to give him the satisfaction of watching her bend.
If she wanted him to agree, she would have to soften, please him, and stop provoking his patience. This was the condition he set—the price for her victory. As expected of a calculating businessman, always scheming, always setting traps. Even when he spoiled her with money or indulgence, his mind was always plotting the next move.
Still, compared to earlier, he seemed more relaxed toward her. Less cold. Less dismissive. Most importantly, he was not entirely unwilling to consider her request. In that small space, Giselle tasted triumph.
Their passion soon reignited, dragging them into another heated session that lasted nearly an hour. Only afterward did she finally dress herself again.