1.
Victor didn't come home until late that night.
I'd already gone to bed, but hearing noise outside my door, I quickly threw on a coat and looked down from the second-floor railing.
He was in a coat himself, a fresh bandage just wrapped around his left forearm.
The medic grumbled, "Young General, when you're injured you should get treated immediately—you don't just go running around—"
Before he could finish, Victor saw me come out and signaled him to silence.
My fingers tightened on the railing. Had he gotten this cut when subduing the agents at the old factory?
After his bandage was done, Victor went silently up the stairs and past me toward the third floor.
I followed him up.
"Victor..."
This was my first time on the third floor of the General's Estate. The layout wasn't much different from the second floor, but there were more rooms.
The Elder General's room, in particular, was twice the size of the guest rooms, with front and back doors, and the steady hum of medical equipment inside.
Victor's room was right next to the stairs.
I followed him all the way inside.
"Why are you following me up here so late instead of sleeping?" His tone was freezing, and he didn't even deign to look back at me.
To be honest, I was starting to get angry.
I really couldn't understand—did dropping Luna off require him to go personally?
Did it require him to go rushing off with an untreated wound?
But one should treat the infirm with the warmth of spring.
I walked around to face him. "I missed you. I wanted to see you, to see how bad your wound is."
He gave a cold laugh. "It's just a scratch. It won't kill me..."
There he was again, assuming I wanted to leave him at death's door.
I took his hand. "Victor, what are you upset about now? I thought we'd already talked everything through."
He looked at me, his breathing suppressed:
"What am I upset about? You actually dared to drive around with four cars full of agents on your tail—do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Have you still not realized what you did?"
By the time he finished, the corners of his eyes were red. He was seething, yet he swallowed it down, probably remembering what I'd said about not wanting to waste precious time on arguments.
He turned and leaned against the desk by the window, pinching the bridge of his nose:
"Those were Japanese agents. Their methods—you of all people should know, coming from a hundred years later, you know best what they're capable of."
So they were Japanese agents. But the outcome had been good in the end.
"If I got captured, at least it's better than having all your munitions burned to ashes in one go." I tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to stop being angry.
But that remark only fueled his rage.
"If you got captured, if you were thrown into a Japanese prison, they'd have leverage over me. No matter what they demanded, I'd have to agree to every single term..."
He paced back and forth in front of me, two or three circuits, the fire in his eyes burning brighter with each step.
Finally, he stopped in front of me and gripped my jaw, desperate and fierce.
"Before I could humble myself and beg the Japanese to let you go, imagine what they would have done to you. I'd rather have my munitions burned to ashes!"
Victor was furious, but my heart was full of joy.
He had never once said "I love you." The most extravagant thing he'd ever given me was a single "I miss you" after dancing with Luna.
He always asked me—am I hungry, am I tired, am I happy.
And what he'd just said, in my ears, was more passionate than any declaration of love I could have wished for.
Without thinking, I rose on my tiptoes, cupped his face, and kissed him.
Caught between two contradictory emotions, he froze for an instant, standing stock-still in disbelief.
His pupils contracted, his breathing growing more and more ragged.
But soon he recovered his composure, reached up, and gripped the back of my neck firmly, the fire in his eyes scorching me.
There were two sides to him—one warm and gentle like sunlight, the other dark and ruthless.
He'd always used his sunny side for me. But tonight, he didn't seem interested in holding back anymore.
"Do you think that just because you come from the future, you're somehow smarter than everyone else?"
My heart was racing. I didn't flinch from his searing gaze.
"I don't think I'm smarter. I'm just not afraid anymore. If it helps you, my death wouldn't mean anything."
"Do you think I need my woman charging into danger on my behalf?"
He loathed my recklessness with putting myself in harm's way, despised my stubborn refusal to learn my lesson.
His palm pressed hard against the back of my neck, our breaths mingling.
My lashes dropped, my voice shrinking. "You said yourself I'm your woman, so naturally..."
With the chill of iced whiskey, his lips came down on mine, silencing my protest.
Anger blazed into desire, and the kiss turned incandescent.
2.
His hand traveled down from my neck, sliding along my spine until he lifted me onto the desk.
I was careful to avoid his wounded arm.
"Victor, watch your hand..."
He didn't seem to feel the wound at all, acting as though he'd never been injured.
One hand cradled the back of my neck while his kiss—entirely without restraint—ravaged my lips.
The other hand, through the thin fabric of my nightgown, gripped my waist as if trying to fuse me into his bones, so that we would never be separated again.
The kiss didn't last long. He pulled back, meeting my eyes, his breathing heavy.
The dark irises of his eyes blazed with unmistakable hunger.
It was only then I realized that walking into Victor's room in the middle of the night might involve certain "dangers."
I slid off the desk and tugged at my rumpled nightgown.
"Victor, it's late, maybe we should—"
Before I could finish, he hoisted me over his shoulder with one arm.
After striding to the bed, he dropped me onto it.
Before I could react, he was over me, pinning me in place.
His lips trailed from my ear to my collarbone, and my nightgown was torn open in one rough motion.
"Rose, you're not leaving now."
His low warning softened into a whisper.
"It's my fault. I was always so careful with you... I let you forget how cruel this world can be."
I loved him so much. I missed him so much.
Every tiny point of contact set off fireworks in my mind.
Even though I'd been the one to seduce him, he'd turned into a wolf, tearing me apart, gnawing me down to the bone.
I gave up resisting.
Exhausted, then pushed to the brink again and again.
It wasn't until the first light of dawn that he finally seemed satisfied, holding me from behind.
"Rose, you're mine. You'll be mine for your entire life."
His fingers skimmed over my palm, finally settling on my ring finger.
I was too tired to speak.
At least today, I had him.
If someday we really did get blown up together, it wouldn't have been for nothing.
The next day, I woke past noon.
Victor wasn't in the room.
I shifted slightly, and my whole body ached.
Looking more carefully, I found dozens of bite marks of varying sizes covering every inch of me.
"This man—does he think he's a dog?"
I winced as I sat up, staring blankly at my ruined nightgown draped over the bed.
In the end, I got out of bed, showered, and put on one of his dress shirts.
I wanted to sneak back to the second floor and change into something decent before anyone noticed me.
But at the turn of the stairs between the third and second floors, I heard voices below in the reception hall.
"I thought President Chase was a steadfast patriot. How did he make such a grave error?"
"He already held British citizenship. Working for the Japanese isn't really a betrayal for him. Funding the military was simply an investment—he hoped we'd protect his business interests."
"Patriot? The moment real trouble comes, they'll run faster than anyone!"
I quickly stepped back, crouched down, and peered through the gap.
The inner hall was ringed with men. It appeared they were using the excuse of visiting the injured to debrief on yesterday's events.
Victor's bandaged arm rested on the table, his military uniform only half-fastened, his posture languid yet commanding. From the corner of his eye, his gaze seemed to graze in my direction.
He lifted a hand and murmured a few words to the butler beside him.
The way I was dressed, walking down those stairs past the open balcony above the inner hall, would definitely be seen by everyone downstairs.
An older officer said, "President Chase has the British protecting him, so we can't touch him for now. What matters right now is Declan's wife. She was with him for eight years, and no one ever discovered she was Japanese—who knows how much intelligence she's sold."
A younger officer stood up. "In my opinion, the agents have already been locked up and can't cause any trouble. What we should do now is audit our own homes—from concubines down to kitchen maids, every woman of unknown origin..."
Victor's fingers tapped idly on the rim of his glass. He stared down, saying nothing.
Until he heard "women of unknown origin," and then he looked up, casting a cool glance around the room.
The young officer faltered, then seemed to remember something, and immediately stopped speaking.
I shrank back.
To avoid being mistaken for an eavesdropping spy by that gathering, I decided it was better to return to the third floor.
These men had come under the guise of visiting the injured, so they had naturally gathered in the inner hall.
Victor now wore an expression of unmistakable impatience. He rapped his knuckles twice on the tabletop: