CHAPTER 10: Cracks Beneath Pride

Emma closed the hotel room door tightly behind her. The hunger that had been tormenting her stomach suddenly disappeared, replaced by overwhelming exhaustion after all the insane drama she had gone through tonight.

She lay back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. However, the peace did not last long.

A harsh knock on the door made Emma let out a long sigh. She already knew who was standing outside without even looking through the peephole. With sluggish steps, she unlocked the door and turned the handle.

Zane walked in, the strong scent of alcohol lingering around him. He looked disheveled, yet it did nothing to diminish his strikingly handsome appearance. In truth, a flicker of panic and longing had seized Zane's heart when he lost track of Emma at the elevator earlier. Damn it, part of him had wanted nothing more than to pull Emma's slender body into his arms, hold her tightly, and bury his face in her neck to ease the frustration that had been suffocating him ever since the wedding reception.

But Zane Blackwood's pride was as high as the sky. He was the number one actor, the man who was always pursued, never the one doing the chasing.

Instead of embracing Emma, Zane arrogantly walked over to the single sofa in the corner of the room. He deliberately unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, leaned back in a provocative pose, and tilted his head slightly, intentionally displaying the reddish-purple marks on his neck—masterpieces left by Violet Iris in the hallway just moments ago.

Zane glanced at Emma from the corner of his eye, waiting for the reaction he knew by heart. Usually, the moment Emma saw even the smallest mark on his body left by another woman, she would immediately lose control with jealousy. She would climb onto his lap, tear open his shirt, and satisfy him completely in bed as if trying to prove that she was the only woman capable of fulfilling all of Zane's desires. Zane missed Emma's absolute obedience and the overwhelming possessiveness she used to show him.

Yet second after second passed, and the room remained silent.

Emma simply stood by the door with her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes briefly landed on the marks on Zane's neck with an expression as calm as still water in a lifeless well. There were no tears. No outburst. No desire. Emma was completely indifferent, as though the marks on Zane's neck were no more interesting than a stain on the wall.

Zane slammed his fist onto the table beside him, causing the flower vase on top of it to tremble. His ego and patience crumbled under Emma's indifference.

"Do you really not have any feelings left for me, Emma?!" Zane shouted, his voice trembling with restrained anger. His sharp eyes locked onto hers, demanding an answer.

Emma fell silent for a moment before a light laugh filled with bitterness escaped her lips. "Heh... Mr. Actor," Emma said as she slowly walked toward the sofa where Zane was sitting, a sarcastic smile etched across her beautiful face. "Weren't you the one who said just a few hours ago that this relationship shouldn't involve feelings? A relationship without any commitment. Just keep things the way they are, as long as we both get satisfaction in bed. Wasn't that what you wanted? I'm simply doing exactly what you asked for, Mr. Zane."

Zane clenched both fists tightly on his thighs. Emma's words struck him like a devastating blow. He stared at her, longing for the Emma who had always obeyed him, always surrendered to him, and always looked at him with eyes filled with unwavering love. Emma's defiance tonight made Zane feel as though he had completely lost control over the woman who had stood by his side for the past seven years.

His mounting frustration drove him to act impulsively. He rose to his feet, grabbed Emma by the shoulders, and pulled her close until there was no space left between them.

"Serve me!" Zane ordered, his voice deep and hoarse, the smell of alcohol on his breath brushing against Emma's face. "I want it now, Emma. Do your job!"

Emma did not even blink. She looked straight into Zane's eyes with an icy gaze that seemed to pierce through his very soul. "I'm sorry, Mr. Zane. I'm not in the mood. Besides... didn't you already do it with Violet Iris out there? Go to her instead. My energy and desire are gone tonight."

"Emma!"

Zane roared, his emotions finally exploding. Emma's repeated rejection throughout the night completely shattered his sanity. Overcome by helpless rage, he turned around and drove his bare fist into the large glass wall overlooking the outside of the hotel.

Crash!

The thick glass did not completely shatter, but the powerful impact left behind a massive spiderweb of cracks. At the same time, fresh blood streamed from the knuckles of Zane's right hand. He breathed heavily, clutching his injured hand as his face tightened in pain and his shattered pride.

Emma flinched slightly. Her gaze shifted from the cracked glass to the blood dripping onto the hotel carpet. Deep inside, she felt even more confused and exhausted by Zane's behavior. If this bastard really loves me, why has he never said it? Why is he so against marriage? Why does he keep tormenting me with this uncertainty?

Ah, whatever.

Emma slowly shook her head, trying to drive those foolish thoughts away.

Seeing that Emma remained silent, Zane let out a rough snort. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He turned around, intending to leave the room with his bleeding hand and return to his own room or find another way to vent his frustration.

However, after taking only two steps, Emma suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Wait," Emma said softly, her voice carrying the remnants of the concern that had not completely disappeared after seven years together. "Sit down on the sofa. Don't go out with your hand like that. You're a public figure, Zane. Do you want the media to make up another ridiculous story tomorrow morning?"

Zane froze.

Emma's hand on his arm felt like cold water poured over the blazing fire inside his chest. His pride slowly crumbled. Without arguing, he obeyed her and returned to the sofa, lowering his head.

Emma walked into the bathroom and took out the small first aid kit she always carried in her bag as Zane's personal assistant. She returned to the sofa, knelt on the floor directly in front of him, and gently took hold of Zane's injured right hand.

She carefully cleaned the fresh blood with an alcohol pad. Zane winced softly as the antiseptic touched the wound. His eyes never left the top of Emma's head as she focused on treating his injury. This silence between them felt different—there was no explosion of anger this time, only the sound of time quietly slipping away.

Zane stared at Emma's face from such close proximity. A powerful urge rose within him to pull her into his arms and apologize, but his tongue remained frozen, imprisoned by his overwhelming pride.

Meanwhile, Emma continued wrapping Zane's wound neatly. Deep inside her heart, she silently counted down.

Treat his wound for the last time, Emma. Cherish these final touches. Because in twenty-three more days... there will no longer be an Emma Penelope Reed kneeling before you to clean up the consequences of your foolishness.