Third Person's POV
"Staring at me?" Blake suddenly turned his head, his sapphire eyes sweeping over her flushed cheeks, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
"N-no!" Catherine hastily lowered her head, her fingers crumpling the book pages, yet not a word entered her mind.
Blake let out a low chuckle and strode to her side, his long leg bracing against the sofa back, trapping her in the soft confines.
"Is it nervous to stare at your fiancé?" He deliberately emphasized the word "fiancé," his warm breath grazing her reddening earlobe. "Or have you already decided I'm your 'husband'?"
Catherine's heartbeat skipped. They were engaged, but the word "husband" still sent a blush to her cheeks.
"Don't jump the gun, we're not married yet," she whispered, her gaze involuntarily sliding downward as he began unbuttoning his shirt—his defined chest faintly visible beneath the white fabric, each button like a droplet being undone by his slender fingers.
"Stop!" Catherine jerked her face away, her ears burning scarlet. "You're doing this on purpose!"
Blake chuckled, his fingertip lightly pinching her warm cheek. "It's not hard to admit you're drawn to me. Besides, you'll be mine sooner or later."
Catherine pushed him away in defeat. "Go shower! We'll talk after you're done..."
"Alright, that's what you said," Blake murmured in her ear, his warm breath leaving her limp. "No takebacks."
When he emerged from the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to his wheat-colored chest and a towel casually draped around his neck, Catherine's gaze barely skimmed over him before he playfully snatched the book from her hands.
"No more reading. Don't strain your eyes."
What followed could only be described as "out of control."
The next morning, Catherine woke to an aching body, fleeting images from the night before flashing through her mind, her ears tingling anew.
At breakfast, only she and Blake sat facing each other—the children, indulged by Patricia, were fast asleep. Abigail insisted on waiting for the kids to rise before dining.
"I'll drop you off at the company," Blake said, pulling up to the office building. But as she moved to exit, he caught her wrist, nodding toward his cheek.
Catherine, blushing furiously, pecked him quickly before fleeing the car.
The moment the door shut, she could still feel his triumphant chuckle, her heart pounding like a drum.
At the office, Melinda approached with a bouquet. "Welcome back, Catherine!"
As they hugged, Melinda teased, "These flowers can't compete with Mr. Chavez's romance, but don't mind me."
Catherine, caught between laughter and tears, replied, "How could I? Your thoughtfulness means the world."
Back at her desk, colleagues gathered around—curious about her engaged life.
Prepared, Catherine distributed neatly wrapped little gifts to everyone.
Jealousy of old had turned to envy—after all, the woman who'd captured Blake's unwavering obsession was anything but ordinary.
Meanwhile, beneath the calm surface between Leo and Sunny lurked undercurrents.
Sunny sensed an invisible wall between them, an ever-present unease of being discarded.
Perhaps this was their destiny—to toss and turn in the intertwined currents of love and hate, never knowing when they'd reach a true harbor.
Catherine shook her head, snapping back to the task at hand.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating her desk. Melinda's flowers bloomed in the corner, and the soft laughter of colleagues carried from nearby cubicles.
Touching the engagement ring on her finger, she suddenly realized that even if life occasionally bordered on "too sweet," as long as the person by her side was the right one, it was all worth it.
The Christmas holidays ended, and everything returned to normal.
Richard resolved to make a breakthrough in his career—time was running out.
While Blake bided his time to strike, Richard sought opportunities to turn the tables.
After all, once Emerson passed, Blake's revenge would be even more ruthless.
He no longer presumed on his seniority for respect— that man likely longed to crush him beneath his heel.
Beyond scheming to suppress Blake, Richard was haunted by another fear—if Blake uncovered the truth about Mark's death, he'd have no way out.
Thus, he had to secure an escape route, one allowing no room for error.
To fully bury the decade-old case, he had to silence one person—Olivia, whom he'd spared a decade ago in a moment of weakness.
Back then, he'd intended to eliminate her, even bringing a gun.
But Olivia's face, so reminiscent of his lover's, had shaken him.
Kneeling and pleading, she swore to keep the secret forever.
Richard, usually ruthless, had surrendered to that face.
Now, his men reported Olivia had vanished, and Richard grew wary. Blake, now at the pinnacle of power, would undoubtedly investigate his father's "accident."
He suspected Blake was already onto Olivia, and the timid woman had likely gone into hiding.
But hiding wouldn't solve anything. Richard had to silence her permanently before Blake did.
Unfortunately, the woman was too cunning. When he'd spared her years ago, she'd already prepared an escape route.
Imprisoned for years, Richard felt out of his depth with the outside world's changes and finally decided to seek his son's help.