Chapter 2: Desire

  “...”

  Arthur didn't know how he’d managed to say something so shameless. Perhaps this was the "magic" of money. After a full hour of silence, his phone rang. It was Clara.

  “Do you know what you’re saying? Are you serious?”

  Arthur checked his thoughts one last time. “I think I’m sane. And yes, I’m serious.”

  After another minute of silence, he heard a voice that sounded like it was being squeezed out of her throat.

  “Fine.”

  Before Arthur could say another word, she hung up—like a guilty rabbit afraid of being caught.

  Arthur stared at the phone. A moment later, another text arrived:

  “Um... what time? Where should we meet?”

  “I need some time to get ready... Is an hour and a half okay?”

  Arthur was speechless. His old classmate seemed a bit... off. He had planned for the weekend, but she seemed more in a hurry than he was.

  Well, I suppose a "fat sheep" like me is a rare breed.

  They agreed to meet at 2:00 PM.

  Robert Ward had prepared a menacing, black luxury MPV—a custom Mercedes Sprinter, nearly twenty feet long and six feet high. The back was a sprawling lounge, spacious enough for five or six people to... "play cards."

  When Clara arrived, she was wearing a loose lace T-shirt and a dark pleated skirt. Her graceful silhouette shimmered under the sun, and her long legs were impossible to ignore.

  Under the watchful eyes of the bodyguards, Arthur felt a pang of embarrassment as he helped her into the van. He had a moment of self-reflection.

  “I’m being transparent.”

  “I’m not hurting anyone—assuming she’s willing and doesn't have a boyfriend.”

  Fine, his behavior was a bit scummy. He hadn't even asked if she was single. He was using "dirty money" to buy her time and corrupt her character. He was a man corrupted by wealth, knowingly walking toward the abyss without a hint of remorse.

  Inside the cabin, the two sat across from each other. Between them was a small bar stocked with champagne and a built-in fridge.

  ……

  Silence filled the space.

  Arthur wasn't socially inept. He was a driven young man who knew how to manage relationships. But this was different. When your motives are pure lust, it’s hard to find a conversation starter. If he just said, "You're hot, let's go to bed," he’d probably get slapped.

  Should they talk about something else?

  Even though she was his "first love," he knew nothing about her. Even now, he realized he had zero interest in her personality, her family, or her life. What attracted him was her "delicious" physical presence.

  She radiated a scent that made his throat tighten. Her tall frame, those long legs, the curves hidden beneath that loose T-shirt, and her skin—so pale and translucent it looked like it would bruise if you just touched it…

  I guess all 'love at first sight' is just lust in disguise.

  Damn, I really am a scumbag, Arthur thought, staring intently at Clara’s chest while reflecting on his sins.

  Clara kept her head down, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Eventually, she pulled her phone out of her small bag and her fingers flew across the screen.

  A second later, Arthur’s phone buzzed.

  “Um... Arthur? I remember you were an orphan, right? (′?ω?)?`”

  Arthur looked at the text, then at the girl sitting right in front of him, staring at her screen and refusing to look up.

  He was bewildered.What kind of 'play' is this? We’re sitting face-to-face. Why are we texting?Lacking a better plan, he played along.

  “Yes.”

  He didn't elaborate. He used to be an orphan with no parents; now he was an orphan with dead parents. No lie there.

  “(° △ °|||)! Arthur, you didn't do something illegal, did you?”

  “??”

  “Like robbing a bank, kidnapping, or some Ponzi scheme... otherwise, where did you get all this money?”

  Arthur was speechless. He almost wished he had robbed a bank; at least then he’d feel a sense of achievement.

  “Just assume I found it.” He thought for a second and added:

  “Look, I’m rich now. Buy whatever you want. Planes, yachts, luxury cars, villas—it doesn't matter. I pay, you pick.”

  Arthur swore that was the most "alpha" thing he’d ever said. He didn't mind spending the money; in fact, he hoped she was a gold-digger. It would make using her body much easier on his conscience.

  The reply he got was:

  “Huh? Are you brain-dead?”

  The message was unsent almost the instant it appeared. Arthur thought he was hallucinating. When he looked up at Clara, she was back to being the shy, demure girl.

  “Sorry, typo [Blush]. I meant, you shouldn't waste money like that.”

  Arthur shrugged. “The people who left this to me didn't care about the money. If I’m too stingy to spend it, then I’m the brain-dead one.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Tens of billions in cash were sitting in bank accounts without even a basic investment plan. They had died without leaving a single instruction on how to handle the estate.

  That said enough about their attitude toward wealth. If the people who made it didn't care, why should the one spending it?

  They chatted back and forth through texts.

  The Back Bay area was only a fifteen-minute drive from campus. Arthur’s first date was proving to be much easier than expected. Eat a bit, drink a bit, walk and talk. He bought her everything she even glanced at. When she said her dorm couldn't fit it all, he told Ward to prepare a villa for her.

  But both were distracted.

  Arthur’s distraction came from the struggle to suppress his primal urges. But Clara seemed burdened by her own secrets. Despite the luxury goods and the promise of a mansion, she didn't show the excitement or shock a normal girl would. Her reaction remained flat.

  Arthur began to wonder—was his old classmate also a secret billionaire?

  Dinner was at a Michelin-star restaurant. Usually, you needed to book thirty days in advance, but money opened the doors. Throughout dinner, Clara kept her eyes on him.

  Arthur had a bold thought——Does she… love me?

  That hungry look in her eyes... It looks exactly like the way I’m looking at her.

  As night fell, they walked through the bustling streets.

  Above were the glowing skyscrapers; around them were the neon lights of the city. They wandered aimlessly, maintaining a polite distance.

  It was Arthur’s first date; he had no experience even holding a girl’s hand. After walking for so long, fine beads of sweat hung on Clara’s neck. Whenever the night breeze caught her loose white T-shirt, the curves of her body rose and fell like waves on a turbulent sea.

  If not for years of disciplined training, Arthur would have lost his humanity and turned into a beast long ago.

  Even now, he was torn.

  Should he indulge his desire and turn this clean date into a "dirty" organ transaction?

  As he hesitated, Clara suddenly stopped. She grabbed the edge of Arthur’s sleeve with one hand and pointed tentatively toward a building with the other.

  “It’s getting late,” she whispered, her face flushing.

  Arthur looked where she was pointing.

  It was a boutique hotel, glowing with soft, suggestive neon lights.

  ……

  Splash—splash—

  Inside the boutique hotel suite, the air was thick with a heavy, sweet fragrance that seemed to coat the lungs. Arthur sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

  From the bathroom came the rhythmic pitter-patter of the shower. Between him and the source of the sound was nothing but a single sheet of frosted glass.

  Arthur found himself wondering: what kind of twisted genius designed this? The glass didn't hide; it curated. Clara’s silhouette was a shifting, undulating map of curves through the hazy pane—mysterious, yet agonizingly clear.

  Every movement of those slender hands over her skin was a direct assault on Arthur’s fraying nerves.

  For a man who had been a "disciplined monk" for twenty years, this was more than a distraction. It was a sensory overload.

  The bathroom door creaked open, and a wave of hot, damp steam billowed out, carrying an even more concentrated dose of that intoxicating scent. Clara stepped out, wrapped in a single white towel.

  Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, and droplets of water traced the line of her collarbone, vanishing beneath the edge of the terrycloth.

  The towel barely reached her thighs, exposing the long, elegant lines of her legs. In the dim, ambient light of the room, her skin looked as pale and translucent as moonlight.

  Clara’s cheeks were flushed from the heat. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, her bright eyes blinking slowly, expectantly. The message was wordless but deafening: Well? What are you waiting for?

  Arthur fights the primitive urge to simply lunge forward like a beast.

  Instead, he stood up with mechanical stiffness and walked into the bathroom. He turned the shower to the coldest setting. He needed to be extinguished. He needed to think.

  How did it get to this?

  But deep down, he admitted the truth. When he was throwing money around earlier, ignoring her protests to buy everything in sight, he was signaling. He was buying a result. He was saying:

  “Look at what I’ve spent. It wouldn't be right for you to say no now, would it?”

  This was exactly what he wanted. Yet, as he stepped out of the cold spray, he knew he had passed the point of no return.

  When he emerged, Clara was already lying on the white expanse of the king-sized bed. She was shyly shielding herself, her wet black hair fanned out across the pillows like ink on snow.

  Every inch of her skin seemed to radiate that maddening, delicious aroma.

  Back in high school, he had avoided her like a plague, terrified that this "succubus" would shatter his resolve or that he’d lose control and do something feral.

  Now, after a day of proximity, that suppressed craving had mutated into something monstrous.

  He began to sense the abnormality.

  He wasn't a sex-crazed predator. If he were, he wouldn't have spent years turning down confessions to focus on his studies. But the desire he felt for this woman was... incorrect. It was too loud. Too heavy.

  When he had a clear goal—a path to run on—he could outrun any temptation.

  But now, lost in the fog of sudden wealth and no purpose, he was no longer the master of his own being.

  He sensed the danger. He felt the trap. But he couldn't leave.

  Human beings are creatures ruled by hormones; even the ice-cold shower hadn't been enough to kill the fire. From the moment he stepped into this hotel, he had surrendered his final chance to walk away.

  As he stood naked before her perfect body, the thing driving his limbs wasn't a man named "Arthur Vance." It was a monster named "Desire."

  Once, Arthur thought that even in the throes of something so primal, he would maintain a shred of gentlemanly dignity. Reality was far messier. When he finally let go, he was no different from a starving predator.

  And what made his blood boil even hotter was that the "prize" beneath him was responding in kind.

  The struggle between them wasn't a romantic dance; it was a savage, fallen, and frantic clash of two hungry things.

  “Arthur…”

  After an eternity of blurred motion, Clara crawled on top of him. She pinned him down, her damp, heavy hair falling around them like a curtain.

  Her lips pressed close to his ear, her warm, ragged breath fluttering against his skin.

  “I can’t hold it back anymore,” she whispered.

  The voice was like a feather dragging across his heart, agonizingly seductive.

  “Do you know why I never liked talking to you?”

  “Because you’re like a magnificent feast. You radiate this scent... waving yourself in front of me, day after day.”

  “I fought so hard not to eat you.”

  “I endured it.”

  “I endured for so long…”

  She was pressing her full weight into him now, pinning his shoulders to the mattress.

  “I can’t take it anymore. Truly. Just... let me eat you.”

  “Let me eat you. It won't hurt much.”

  “It’ll be over so fast.”

  “Let me consume you…”

  To be honest, hearing such "provocative" words, Arthur didn't immediately grasp the severity of the situation. His hazy mind only processed one thought: Oh, so she feels the same way I do.

  She’s been craving me just as long as I’ve been craving her. You really can’t judge a book by its cover. She looked so pure…

  But aren't we already "consuming" each other? What else is there to—

  Suddenly, a jolt of white-hot agony tore through him.

  Those enticing red lips were suddenly stained with something darker. Crimson blood dripped from Clara’s mouth, falling directly into Arthur’s wide, shocked eyes.

  In that heartbeat, the entire world turned red.