The Problematic Helper

His thick eyebrows furrowed, and the half-hidden eyes of the man were icy cold. His flowing black hair gave him a decadent air. “Uh, excuse me…” “Shh.” His finger on her lips was resolute, as if warning her not to provoke him further. A man who wouldn’t even be satisfied unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time, who’d rather tear it off completely, was surprisingly gentle as he brushed back her hair. “Even so… won’t you regret it?” The woman regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth, realizing they were meant more for herself. Their closeness, so tenuous a breeze might bridge it. His lips, barely touching hers, let slip a sneer. “Regret? I’m not the kind of person who does that.” He was inscrutable. His expression unreadable. A contractual marriage of six months, a year at most. His terms were as clear-cut as his appearance. “So, I ask you one last time.” Emphasis on ‘last’. “Will you, or won’t you?” It was an epiphany too late. Too late to run, too late to resist.