It was at that very moment that I seemed to fall under a spell, constantly finding excuses to return to Henry’s studio.

But I lacked courage, and with my strict upbringing, I had never dared to cross the line.

Until this time.

I subconsciously reached out and touched my lower back, where a faint itch and sting lingered.

The last time the tattoo had scabbed over, I had missed him too much and couldn’t find an excuse to come, so I had forcibly picked at the scab before it had healed.

This was my third touch-up.

It was also my self-directed and self-performed act of “playing the victim.”

The comments drifted by right on cue:

“I’m dead. This isn’t clumsiness, it’s desire itching under the skin!”

“Claire Rivers ruins her own skin just to see her man once. Yeah, only she would pull that off!”

“Henry is washing his hands three times longer than usual! He’s calming himself down! He’s trying not to look like a creep!”

Was that… really the case?

I watched in the mirror as Henry turned off the faucet, methodically dried his hands, and then pulled on a fresh pair of black gloves.

He turned around, and his gaze fell on the lower back I had been covering the whole time; his eyes darkened instantly.

My heart shrank.

…

Henry finished his preparations, secured his gloves, and pushed over a metal trolley that had somehow already been set up.

The faint sound of the wheels rolling across the floor filled my ears, almost drowning out the beating of my heart.

He said nothing, only reached out to pull over a chair and sat down behind me.

As he drew closer, that sharp, icy scent intensified at once, as if it had enclosed me within an invisible territory.

“Lift your shirt.”

The words were brief, cold, and left no room for refusal.

Blushing, I shakily rolled up the hem of my T-shirt, revealing a stretch of pale skin marred by imperfections.

A very soft click of the tongue sounded behind me.

Immediately after, the cool touch of rubber gloves met my overheated skin, sending fine shivers rippling through me.

Henry’s fingers were long and strong, and even through the gloves, I could feel the rough calluses on his fingertips.

He pressed lightly along the edge of the wound, his movements so gentle they seemed impossible, as though he were touching something fragile and precious.

Yet the words he spoke sounded on the verge of annoyance.

“Miss Rivers, are your hands really that restless?

“It was a perfectly good piece, and you picked it until it looks this scratched up.”

I drew my neck in slightly, not daring to turn around to look at him, and could only stare at the full-length mirror in front of me.

Henry’s reflection lowered his head slightly, his brows sharp and austere.

The mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only a pair of pitch-black eyes exposed.

Those eyes were locked firmly on my waist, shadowed emotions churning beneath their surface.

Suddenly, comments showed up in a fury of excitement:

“Help! Does Henry look like he’s about to eat someone alive?”

“What do you mean? He’s clearly heartbroken! I can see his hand shaking while holding the cotton swab!”

“He’s holding back! He’s desperately suppressing the beastly instinct to pull his woman into his arms and lick her wounds! After all, this beast is the most ferocious of ferocious beasts!”

“Henry’s inner monologue must be: Whoever made my woman hurt deserves to die! Oh—it was my own woman who picked at it? Then never mind. I’ll just kill myself slowly.”

Was it… Really like that?

I watched those eyes in the mirror grow darker still, and my heart began to race.

“It might hurt a little. Bear with it.”

He picked up a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic and gently wiped over the reddened wound.

A sharp sting followed, and I shrank back instinctively, letting out a very soft whimper.

“Mmh…”

Henry’s hand froze abruptly.

In the mirror, I clearly saw his Adam’s apple roll and the instant darkness that flooded his pupils.

The air seemed to thicken at that moment.

He did not resume right away.

After pausing for a few seconds, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse, “So delicate…”

Though the word itself sounded dismissive, there was little real reproach in his tone.

It was something that felt like… desire.

The comments exploded instantly:

“Ahhh! That sounded so good it killed me!”

“Did you see Henry’s ears turn red? This pure-hearted beast is shy!”

“That soft whimper was basically toeing the ferocious beast’s danger zone! Henry’s sanity meter must be nearly drained!”

“This is the moment! Female lead, make your move! His defenses are at their weakest!”

Provoked by the barrage of comments, my face heated up.

That pent-up frustration, the longing to touch him yet not daring to, mixed with the days of suppressed yearning, instantly shattered my reason.

Before I could think, I turned around and met the eyes that had not yet managed to rein in their emotions.

Our gazes locked.

Henry’s hand holding the cotton swab stiffened in midair.

“Um… Hi…”

I drew in a deep breath, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt as I gathered every ounce of courage I had.

“Since this piece is ruined, then I… I want to get a new one somewhere else.”

Henry looked at me quietly, his voice so low and hoarse it barely sounded human.

“Where?”

I lifted a finger and shakily pointed a little lower on my back, toward those faintly visible indentations.

It was an extremely private and extremely sensitive place.

“I… I want to tattoo it on my lower back.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Henry’s pitch-black pupils contract sharply, narrowing to needle points.

The sudden sense of danger made my skin prickle.

…

“Whoa… Who’s excited?”

“Lower back! So scandalous!”

“The absolute peak of seduction!”

“I heard Henry has a private tattoo of his own, in the same spot, hehehe.”

Henry swallowed.

“You sure?” he asked hoarsely.

I hadn’t thought it through at all, so I tried to redirect the firepower.

“I heard… You have one too?”

I had overheard a staff member mention it once, but I had never seen it myself.

Henry’s breathing became louder.

He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if struggling desperately to restrain himself.

I couldn’t help wondering, would he just throw me out?

Then, Henry slowly straightened.

The pressure in that moment was intense.

Henry had a naturally sullen look, and when he didn’t smile, he could put the fear of God in a petulant child.

But right now, the way he looked at me was like a massive dog who had retracted its claws, seeking only the mercy of its master.

It was as if, with just a beckoning of my hand, he would give me his life.

“Want to see?”

The sense of danger dissipated the moment he spoke.

I nodded without thinking.

“Yes. Definitely.”

Henry’s eyes flicked slightly, a dangerous edge coloring his tone.

“Once you see it, there’s no going back.

“Tattooing this spot will hurt.”

I had cried like a baby the last time I had gotten my collarbone tattooed.

“Then… maybe forget it.”

I breathed a secret sigh of relief.

Henry’s expression said, “I knew it”, but he didn’t expose me.

He seemed in a good mood, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Lie down. I’ll deal with the inflamed area first.”

I obediently lay across the tattoo chair, just like last time.

Yet, somehow, it felt completely different.

For example…

“From now on, if you want to see me, just come, don’t torture yourself.”

“Oh.”

Henry sat behind me so I couldn’t see his expression.

The cold antiseptic brushed over my warm skin, sending shivers down my spine.

As he cleaned the wound, he murmured, “Bear with it.”

“Uh huh…”

But then—

“Miss Rivers, you come running to my shabby shop every day. Doesn’t your fiancé get jealous?”

“Ah?”

The twist was so sudden I almost bit my tongue.

Henry’s tone, in contrast, was calm, like he was asking about the weather.

Yet the pressure of his hand on the cotton swab grew just slightly heavier.

Could it be… that he was jealous?

The comments, of course, went wild:

“Henry’s hand is shaking! The jealousy jar just tipped over!”

“Because of his rough upbringing for being so different, he’s so insecure that he barely dares to look her in the eye.”

“From our point of view, we know the fiancé is just an extra, but Henry doesn’t know that! He thinks the guy’s a tall, rich, handsome rival!”

“For Henry, as long as 'Miss Rivers' looks at him, even just once, he’s willing to be the spare for eternity!”

“Why do they still keep the secret crush play? We want adult tension! Female lead, explain yourself, now!”

Fiancé? Were they talking about that womanizer, Ethan Grant?

“Actually, he and I…”

The explanation had barely left my mouth when my phone's ringtone exploded.

The caller ID read: Ethan Grant.

…

Henry glanced at the name flashing on the screen, and the fingers that had been about to reach for the ink stiffened almost imperceptibly.

In that instant, I felt the air grow cold.

He quickly looked away and refrained from asking any questions.

“I’m going to mix some colors. Let me know when you’re done.”

The curtain partition slid down, cutting off that broad yet lonely silhouette.

I let out a long breath and slid my finger to answer the call.

“Say what you need to say. I’m busy.”

On the other end of the phone, Ethan’s voice came through, amidst a noisy background, as obnoxious as ever.

“Busy with what? Counting ants in that crappy tattoo shop? Tomorrow night’s charity gala. You have to be there.”

I frowned. “Not going. I’m busy.”

“Don’t be like that, my dear Miss Rivers!” Ethan panicked.

“That Whitman girl just got back to Riverton.

“Tomorrow night, she’s definitely going to eat me alive. Since we’re both involved, you have to act this whole thing out with me!”

He paused, and his tone grew unusually solemn.

“You need to act especially in love with me.

“Holding hands, hugging… Even a kiss or two is fine! My parents have to believe we’re madly in love and that you won’t marry anyone but me. Otherwise, I won’t be able to explain myself!”

“Acting is exhausting enough, and you want me to kiss you? Dream on,” I snapped irritably.

“As long as you help me this time and cooperate to make this whole act look real, I’ll have that limited-edition motorcycle you've always wanted delivered straight to your home.”

At the mention of the motorcycle, the refusal already on my lips took an abrupt turn.

It was the same model Henry had admired the last time he saw it.

A sly glint flashed in my eyes as I lowered my voice.

“Deal. I’ll be there on time tomorrow. Remember what you said. I want that motorcycle as payment.”

“Alright, alright. As long as you cooperate, forget the motorcycle, I'll pluck the stars from the sky for you!”

After hanging up, I was happily scheming how to get the motorcycle to Henry, but when I looked up, the partition curtain had been lifted.

Henry stood there, holding a fresh cup of ink, his expression unreadable.

Yet the controlled edge of his temper now seemed to seep out uncontrollably, tendrils of it drifting around him, tinting his pitch-black eyes with a hint of scarlet.

I shivered involuntarily.

Wasn’t the air-conditioning a bit too cold?

Before I could say anything, several scarlet comments appeared:

“It’s over, it’s over! Henry heard everything!”

“Don’t forget! The beast’s hearing is a hundred times better than a human’s. Even through the curtain, it’s like shouting into his ear!”

“He heard your words… He’s definitely thinking the female lead is selling her body for that motorcycle!”

“Henry must be thinking: “So she behaves so obediently in front of that rich kid, willing to kiss him for money… My heart is shattered into pieces.”

Was it really like that?

My chest tightened.

I wanted to explain, but looking at Henry’s icy, unreadable face, I didn’t even know where to start.

If I told him I was “performing” just to get him a new motorcycle, would he think I was selling myself?

Or worse, consider it an insult?