Chapter 1115: Hannah's Allure

Doyle lay on Hannah's bed, under the shared blanket, but he didn't touch her. The room's dim lighting underscored the lack of communication between them. Hannah couldn't sleep; Oscar remained on the balcony, and she feared the maid in the bathroom might awaken at any moment, exposing their situation. A future escape felt like a mere fantasy. Oscar's influence couldn't reach this far, and he couldn't single-handedly navigate foreign intrigue on her behalf.

She rolled over, facing Doyle, whose eyes flickered. He'd been watching her indifferent back. Their gazes met as she turned.

"Doyle, can you leave?"

He remained silent.

"I can't sleep," she stated plainly. "Being near you prevents me from sleeping."

"You have to get used to it."

"I won't."

"Try. We still have time."

"Not tonight."

"There will always be many 'tonights'…"

"If you talk to Besse, clear things up, at least I won't feel guilty towards her. You should bear that burden, not me," Hannah paused. "That's my bottom line."

Determination, even rejection and disgust, hardened her eyes.

"After tonight, I won't share your bed. But tonight, I need this to happen," he said firmly.

He wouldn't let her go tonight.

"What if I resist?"

"You can't…"

Hannah lifted the blanket, about to rise, but Doyle seized her arm. She struggled, his grip tightening. He pinned her beneath him, immobilizing her.

"Let go of me!"

"I won't."

"Doyle!"

"Men are easily provoked," Doyle threatened. "Further resistance, and I can't guarantee my actions. I've considered this for a long time."

Hate blazed in her eyes.

"If you understand, don't resist. Men's patience is limited…"

"How many times?" Hannah interrupted.

Doyle studied her intently.

"How many times must I sleep with you before you leave? I don't want to see you!" she asked calmly, her anger controlled, silencing him.

"Get off me!"

His grip didn't falter.

"Let go, and I'll give you what you want," she offered.

Enraged, he retorted, "Hannah, even if unwilling, I will take it."

"So, if I sleep with you, you'll leave?"

He didn't answer, but released her arm.

Even this despicable means didn't matter. Hannah gained her freedom, beginning to unfasten her bathrobe, revealing form-fitting clothing beneath. Doyle watched as fair skin emerged.

In the dim light, she seemed to glow, radiating an unusual allure. He'd longed for her, but refused to force her. Now, with her compromise, he couldn't resist.

"Hannah, don't hate me," he pleaded.

She remained silent.

"That sounded pointless," Doyle mocked himself, then leaned in to kiss her.

She turned her head, coldly replying, "Just get started."

He paused.

Silence filled the room, broken only by subtle sounds on the bed. Hannah wondered if Oscar was still there, if he'd witnessed everything. It didn't matter; she owed Oscar nothing, no one.

Yet, when Doyle touched her, tears welled. Reborn for revenge and family protection, she'd believed in a fresh start. This path, however, proved far harder than she'd imagined. Survival felt impossibly difficult.

Her eyes flickered. She saw Oscar.

He'd entered silently from the balcony, standing before her.

Doyle, pressing down on her, noticed neither Oscar nor the shift in Hannah's expression. He knew her reluctance, but his actions were irreversible.

Hannah's hands crept around Doyle's back. She gestured for Oscar to leave. His footsteps froze; he watched helplessly, his fists clenched, unable to approach. He feared disappointing her, fueling her hatred further.

Silence reigned until a sharp phone ring pierced the room. Doyle flinched. Hannah held him tightly, preventing him from answering, knowing that rising would reveal Oscar. He hesitated, on the verge of leaving, then paused again.

He knew her hatred, but dreaded deepening it. As the phone rang again, he calmed himself. Getting Hannah wasn't solely about her body. Her reluctance, even if a ploy for revenge, made it difficult for him too.

He shifted slightly.

A sharp knock echoed from outside; Oscar was gone.

With a forceful push, Hannah shoved Doyle away. Nothing had happened.

He simply watched as she grabbed the blanket. He knew she wouldn't continue. The knocking intensified, culminating in a shout: "Prince Doyle! Princess Besse has committed suicide!"