Chapter 505 This Time, He's Just Playing Along with Her!
In the dead of night, they finally met again—it had been a year since their last encounter.
He bore the weight of countless hardships, while her eyes still held that damnable innocence, that untouched purity he despised.
How dare she live so peacefully after betraying him, appearing in his world as if nothing had happened? He wanted to tear apart that beautiful facade.
"Long time no see."
They stood facing each other, neon lights casting shadows across his profile, obscuring his expression, though his voice remained tender—like lovers' whispered secrets under starlight.
Azalea wore simple clothes, carrying a bag of apples for Elspeth Gray—she planned to make applesauce when she returned home. Elspeth was her daughter with Nicholas.
The child had been ill, so Azalea brought her to Evergreen City for treatment. After a month, Elspeth had nearly recovered. During this time, Azalea hadn't troubled Oliver and his wife, nor told them she was in the city. Tomorrow, she was supposed to leave—until she encountered Nicholas.
The bag of apples scattered across the ground, golden and ripe, rolling in different directions. Azalea didn't move to collect them; she stood frozen, gazing up at the man she had once loved deeply. She couldn't move, feeling dizzy—a lingering effect from their intimate past.
Nicholas bent down, gathering the apples, then extended them toward her. Her lips trembled as she struggled to speak his name, but no sound emerged. This reunion left her utterly undone.
Finally, Nicholas spoke, "Where are you staying? I'll drive you home." His tone was politely distant, like old friends making small talk.
"No need, I can get home myself," Azalea managed to say.
She reached for the apples, but he caught her arm. She tried to pull away, but the difference in their strength was undeniable—how could she escape a man determined to restrain her?
"I can get home myself," she repeated, her voice barely audible.
The night wind howled around them. Nicholas stared intently at her pale face before asking abruptly, "Where's the child? What did you do with our baby?"
The child was named Elspeth, and she was beautiful. But Azalea lied, "There is no child. I had an abortion!"
"Yes! I terminated the pregnancy. Mr. Moore, do you know what happens to an unmarried woman with an illegitimate child? Society would drown her in judgment, ensuring she never recovers. I told you—we were just playing games. I never truly loved you, so why would I bear your unwanted child?"
Nicholas smiled coldly. "You're absolutely right—just games. But I haven't finished playing yet."
He released her and lit a cigarette, the blue smoke dispersing in the night wind. His smoking had become natural and practiced, unlike before. He squinted at her through the haze. "How about five million dollars a month?"
Azalea's heart raced. She understood he wanted to keep her as his mistress, but his approach had changed. Previously, he would give her a credit card with gentle words about household expenses, treating her like precious treasure. Now he spoke in cold, transactional terms.
She refused softly, saying she didn't need it, but Nicholas was looking for someone to vent his anger on—he wouldn't let her go.
He whispered in her ear, "You don't have a choice."
Azalea looked up, her eyes filled with shattered starlight, then smiled bitterly. With her humble background, how could she refuse?
She got into his black Range Rover—a car he'd never driven before. Previously, he rode in the back seat of luxury sedans with chauffeurs, and he never smoked in vehicles. The man before her was still Nicholas, yet somehow different. He had changed considerably.
Without asking her address—he didn't care—he drove straight to a familiar neighborhood. When the car entered the well-known street, Azalea gasped. "Why are we here?"
"Why not here?" Nicholas turned off the engine and faced her in the dim interior, their profiles flickering in the shadows.
After a long silence, he spoke coldly, "I bought this place back last month. Don't think I'm being sentimental, Azalea. I'm simply reminding myself of this shameful past, ensuring I never trust women so easily again."
His downfall had been Oliver's handiwork, and she was Oliver's planted spy. His hatred was justified.
"What do you want?" Azalea lowered her lashes, asking bitterly, "What will it take for you to forgive me?"
Her downcast expression remained as pitiable as ever. Nicholas gripped her delicate chin, thinking of all the women he'd been with since—none particularly special except for the one in his heart, and perhaps Azalea, who had left such vivid marks on his life. But unlike Sarah, he felt only hatred for Azalea. In his mind, she was nothing but a cheap woman for him to use as he pleased.
Instead of answering, he toyed with her delicate face, then grasped her silky hair, forcing her to look up while his rough thumb traced her red lips.
After the car stopped shaking, Nicholas remained unsatisfied—that had been merely an appetizer.
He pulled Azalea from the car, ignoring her disheveled state. In the building's entrance, they encountered a former neighbor who stared in surprise. "Mr. Moore? Mrs. Moore?"
Nicholas appeared more composed than before, greeting the neighbor with Azalea in his arms, maintaining perfect gentility. But once inside the apartment, he revealed his true nature, ignoring her painful pleas and discomfort. After so long apart, his need for control had become terrifying.
Azalea suffered greatly, and though he knew it, he simply didn't care.
After their encounter, Nicholas straightened his clothes and tossed her a gold credit card, calling it payment and commenting that he'd enjoyed himself.
Azalea felt dazed as he sat down, patting her cheek like a pet. "Don't think about running away. When I'm finished playing and my anger is satisfied, I'll let you go. Stay here—I'll call when I want you."
He took her phone number, and throughout everything, Azalea couldn't resist. She feared him discovering Elspeth's existence and taking their daughter away, separating them forever. She also couldn't tell Oliver, having come to Evergreen City without reporting her plans.
Azalea accepted Nicholas's revenge, clutching the gold card. "I have my own place. When you want me, I'll come here in advance."
Nicholas didn't object—he didn't care where she lived. His goal wasn't merely physical release but complete destruction, making her experience the agony of betrayal by a loved one. A few encounters wouldn't be sufficient revenge.
Nicholas left in the night, and much later, Azalea dragged her exhausted body to the shower. Everything remained unchanged—even the bathrobe's placement was identical to before.
Wrapped in the robe, she studied her reflection: pale yet glowing with feminine fullness, covered in fingerprints from their passionate encounter. She couldn't deceive herself—beyond being forced, she craved being with Nicholas. Though painful, it made her feel alive, proving her past emotions had been real.
She decided to wait until he grew tired, then leave with Elspeth. But women could never outmaneuver men.
Over the following months, Nicholas summoned her once or twice weekly, rarely speaking afterward. He would smoke two cigarettes and leave.
Azalea always appeared submissive, arriving early when he set appointments. She would bring him slippers, cook nourishing meals he wouldn't eat, never complaining. Sometimes he deliberately arrived smelling of other women's perfume, watching her reaction.
Her eyes would glisten with unshed tears, but she'd bite her lip silently. Knowing she was hurt, he would treat her more kindly afterward, giving her money as "household expenses" like before, calling her more frequently—three or four nights weekly.
Sometimes he brought small gifts women treasured. Azalea fell into his trap unknowingly.
After their nighttime encounters, she would wear the pearl earrings he'd given her, admiring herself in the mirror with inexplicable joy, savoring love's sweet taste.
She had her child and money—she should have walked away, but she was addicted to these feelings, dreaming of spending her life with him. She didn't need marriage; these frequent meetings satisfied her completely.
Eventually, she would tell him about their daughter—Elspeth, their beautiful little girl. She believed her Nicholas would love Elspeth, but she feared his current affection might stem from gratitude for Elspeth's cord blood donation.
In the bedroom, Nicholas sat smoking, watching Azalea fall deeper into romantic delusion. For him now, winning a woman's heart was effortless—he could easily read her thoughts.
In just two months, she was fantasizing about forever with him. Nicholas sneered—what dreams was this woman having? A woman who had betrayed him—why should he forgive her, why should he treasure her like a precious jewel? A whore overestimating her worth.
He extinguished his cigarette and joined her in the steamy bathroom, kissing her tender skin, his voice husky and gentle, "Hestia and I are married in name only. My real home is here. In a year or two, we'll have a child—a proper family of three."
Azalea didn't dare dream of marriage. Being his mistress was humiliating, but she accepted it gladly—she loved him, he loved her, and they had beautiful Elspeth.
She hesitated, wondering if she should reveal Elspeth's existence now.
But Nicholas continued, "Work's been busy lately—I might not see you this week. Let's spend Christmas Eve together. I want to surprise you."
He mentioned booking the finest private dining room for a candlelit dinner. Azalea was overjoyed but worried about neglecting his wife. "I caused problems between you two before. You should treat her well now."
Nicholas's eyes flashed with cold amusement, but he held her close, his breath hot against her neck. "How thoughtful you are."
Azalea silenced him, her face flushed and alluring. Nicholas watched their reflection, experiencing a moment's hesitation—a brief softening—before his heart hardened again. Discussing feelings with a whore was ridiculous.
His phone rang in the bedroom. The caller informed him that Matthew's case was decided—execution would occur next spring.
Nicholas sat in contemplative silence, then looked at Azalea with meaningful intensity.
Late that night, Nicholas returned home to find Hestia still awake, folding children's clothes. Under the lamplight, her face resembled a withered flower, devoid of freshness.
Azalea's presence made Hestia seem more tolerable by comparison. He threw his keys and removed his coat, sinking into the sofa to observe his wife.
He bore no perfume scent or lipstick traces, but Hestia knew he'd been with another woman—she'd stopped caring since he would always seek others anyway.
"What's wrong? Why the long face? Can't you smile?" Nicholas turned her thin shoulders, unusually attempting to appease his wife. He even wanted to satisfy her physical needs, but Hestia had no appetite for him, claiming her period had arrived.
Nicholas understood but didn't force her, sneering, "The women outside are just meaningless flings—all whores. Why compete with them?"
Hestia ignored him, hanging up his coat and checking the pockets out of habit. Inside was a shopping receipt—for pearl earrings.
The jewelry wasn't expensive, but it wasn't something for prostitutes or meaningless affairs. Nicholas was keeping a woman.
As Hestia pondered this, Nicholas remained on the sofa, appearing nonchalant. Someone as calculating as him wouldn't leave such evidence accidentally—he wanted Hestia to know about Azalea.
A woman's greatest humiliation was psychological destruction, and Hestia would be his weapon of choice.
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