Chapter 14 Don't Pretend You Feel Nothing

Eleanor randomy pulled a tie from the drawer. It was only when she had it in her hands that she recognized it—the one she had bought for him.

She was about to swap it out when Aaron caught her hand and examined the tie. "This one doesn't look bad, let's try it."

"It's cheap and not right for you," Eleanor said, trying to put the tie back.

Aaron tightened his grip, with a tease or something else in his tone, "Don't they say on the internet that I could make a burlap sack look prestigious? If I can lend class to a cheap tie, that's my skill."

Eleanor wanted to accuse him of being shameless, but it was true. Aaron had a natural flair—he never wore clothes; the clothes wore him.

But she didn't want to use this tie, though Aaron was set on it.

At an impasse, Eleanor figured it was better to endure a moment of pain than to prolong the agony—better to be numb to the cuts he inflicted than to show any vulnerability.

This time, Aaron was cooperative, not making it difficult for her.

Eleanor expertly tied another knot, eager to finish and move on, hardly looking as she said, "This one is indeed quite nice; let's go with it."

Aaron scoffed, "Your talent for lying seems to have improved; that knot is atrocious. Tie it again."

He yanked the tie off and tossed it to her.

Biting back anger, Eleanor tied it again, but Aaron still wasn't pleased.

"What kind of knot do you like?" Eleanor's patience was waning.

"One moment you call me 'Brother,' the next 'Aaron.' How many identities do you think I have?" He began to untie the knot, his expression darkening.

"Aaron, what the hell do you want!"
Aaron watched Eleanor, looking like a cat with its fur all puffed up, and laughed. "Couldn't hold back anymore?"

He shoved the tie back into her hands.

"Tie it properly, and keep at it until I'm satisfied."

Eleanor clenched the tie, unable to tolerate Aaron's annoying persistence, and took a deep breath. "Does Vincent know you're such a flirt?"

Aaron straightened his collar with an air of natural confidence. "Hmm, maybe I'll give it a try with her next time."

It was pointless for Eleanor to engage in such prolonged conversation with him, only to stab herself in the heart again. Unable to bear it, she threw down the tie and turned to leave.

But Aaron caught her wrist. "So impatient and restless. Well then, write me a pair of couplets, something about 'Happiness Forever.'"

Eleanor thought he was insane.

Aaron leaned in close, his deep, husky voice by her ear: "Your brush penmanship isn't bad. When did you learn?"

He must have seen her writing in the study. Eleanor tightened her grip, certain he had recognized it.

"Covertly copying my handwriting?" His voice dropped even lower.

Eleanor's scalp tingled, and after a pause, she said, "I used to study brush pen out of interest, and your writing was just passable."

He chuckled, "Just passable?"

Determined, he said, "Since you admire it so much, how about I write you a pair of couplets when you get married?"

Her getting married...

Eleanor hadn't considered marrying anyone else. She shook her head, staying silent.

Aaron looked down at Eleanor, so close within his reach. She was clearly lying, her cheeks tinged pink with both embarrassment and anger, her eyes rimmed with red as if she were about to cry.

But he knew she wouldn't; she was too stubborn to give in to tears.

Aaron, with his warm breath drawing nearer, was all too familiar to Eleanor; he was moved by passion.

Perhaps the moment she started tying his tie, he had been planning this scene.

Eleanor quickly raised her elbow to push him away but was effortlessly overpowered as he caught her arm and used the tie she had bought to bind her against the mirror. Then pressing himself upon her from behind, he trapped her.

"Aaron... Mmm..."

He seized her chin in a fierce kiss that swept over her like a tempest.

With her arms restrained and her legs struggling vainly, he easily broke her resistance, stepping forward to pin her knees with his own, dominating her from above.

After a slight pause to create a hint of distance, his voice was husky and biting, "Eleanor, don't say you feel nothing."

"Aaron you jerk! Go find your Vincent!"

Her face flushed with rage and embarrassment, yet still breathtakingly beautiful. She was always startlingly lovely, mesmerizing, taking people down with her inch by inch.
Aaron lifted her chin again and planted a kiss that sent Eleanor's tongue tingling, yet her mind clung to a fragment of sanity.

She knew he was engaged—this shouldn't be happening.

She bit him without a second thought!

Aaron grunted in pain, and Eleanor took the chance to thrust him back with her body, stumbling a few steps away.

The tie that bound her wasn't tight, and she wriggled her hands free after a few struggles.

With eyes blazing, emotions erupting like a volcano, she shouted, "How are you any different from Peter?"

Peter?

Aaron ran a thumb over his lip, smeared with blood. She had resisted him, biting with all her might!

"You're comparing me to that scumbag?"

Memories of that night came back to Eleanor, but she fought to keep the tears at bay despite her trembling. "You're all the same!"

Aaron's expression turned darkly ominous as his gaze swept over to the side of Eleanor's neck.

Her struggle had tossed her hair aside, exposing the slender, pale neck even more. There, along with a gauze-covered wound, lay a kiss mark hidden earlier beneath her hair.

A shadow passed over the man's eyes.

Eleanor's skin was delicate, prone to marking during moments of intimacy—an inconvenient trait that often took days to fade.

He hadn't touched her in a while; the mark could have only been left by Peter that night.

"Where else did he touch you that night?"

Drained of color, Eleanor shivered as she hurried to find a scarf, wrapping it hastily to cover the damning mark.

Peter hadn't had his way that night, but his lips had defiled her neck. She had scrubbed incessantly afterward, unable to wash away the memory or the mark left behind.

Tears hit the ground as she fled the master bedroom, darting out of the main house, ignoring her injured feet as she raced across the lawn.

The manor sprawled vast around her, and she seemed a fragile skiff on the ocean's expanse, wavering in the vast night.

A beam of light pierced the darkness behind her, the car window rolling down as Wesley avoided eying Eleanor's distraught face.

"Miss Patterson, Aaron asked me to take you home."

There were no taxis nearby, and this time, Eleanor didn't refuse.

Getting into the car, Wesley offered her a bag without looking back.

"Please take care of your leg first, Miss Patterson."

The car left the manor, its red tail lights vanishing around the bend of Shady Boulevard.

Aaron stood by the window, lighting a cigarette, his other hand reaching for his phone to dial a number.

The night breeze swept in, icing the man's gaze, "You're a doctor. Got anything that makes life a living hell?"

A voice answered on the phone with a statement left hanging in the air.
"I want him dead." He stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill, leaving a black mark.

He turned and walked back, pausing in front of the wardrobe mirror.

Bending down, he picked up the tie from the floor, a flicker of emotion passing through his cool eyes.

...

Late at night, Eleanor's phone rang; it was Grayson calling.

"Eleanor, Peter's dead."