Ian was tending to Ethan's wounds in the villa.
The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air as it met torn flesh.
Ethan merely clenched his jaw, fingers tightening into fists.
Pain had never troubled him.
Especially between the sheets.
That night on the Royal Princess Cruise, Sophia's nails had raked down his back, leaving crimson trails. When their bodies tangled, she'd sunk her teeth into his shoulders and chest.
That debauched night of madness, yet he'd reveled in every sting.
Particularly the pain she inflicted—bliss bordering on annihilation.
Back then, he'd cared only for indulgence, his mind consumed by abandon.
Ethan knew this craving would consume him like wildfire.
So in the end, he'd nipped at her earlobe down to the collarbone, luring her into mutual ruin.
"Compared to these wounds," Ethan's voice dropped low, "Miss Sullivan matters more."
Sophia glanced up as the breeze ruffled his jet-black hair.
His expression remained impassive while securing the bandage. The defined muscles of his forearm flexed, those elegant fingers exuding temptation.
Half his body melted into shadow, becoming one with the darkness.
Much like the man himself—outwardly ascetic and cold as the distant moon.
Who could guess his private sanctuary housed an arsenal from black blindfolds to handcuffs and ropes, every inch radiating sinful allure.
Now his words held that same inexplicable magnetism.
Before Sophia could respond, Ian drawled, "How unexpectedly human of you, Mr. Sullivan."
He understood Ethan's implication perfectly.
Though displeased, Ian maintained professional care of the injury. Especially before Sophia, his demeanor stayed warm, emerald eyes particularly striking.
Ian winked at her. "I agree you're the priority, Annie."
Unlike Ethan's restrained intensity, Ian smiled with husbandly gentleness. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze resembled deep pools meant for drowning.
Finishing the bandage, he produced a Leonidas chocolate from his pocket.
The gilded box bore an exquisite ribbon—clearly premeditated.
"Here." Ian offered it with a smile, deliberately under Ethan's gaze. "I remember your sweet tooth."
The box featured heart motifs, the hazelnut-pine nut chocolate indeed her former favorite.
Most telling was the foil inscription:
—"Drowning in your gaze, falling into love's depths."
Ethan remained silent.
He suddenly felt the sofa inappropriate—perhaps the crevices would better accommodate him without disrupting this performance.
Propping his chin lazily, he remarked, "Yet I recall Miss Sullivan disliking sweets."
Ethan noticed everything.
Ian shrugged. "Understandable you wouldn't know, given your brief acquaintance. Annie and I bonded in Italy."
His gentle eyes found Sophia's.
"You prefer sweetness, don't you, Annie?"
Ian's tender expression contrasted with the challenge in his glance toward Ethan.
Both men focused on Sophia's eyes.
Tension crackled between them.
An answer seemed mandatory.
Sophia: "..."