She crossed her arms over her chest on instinct, trying to shield herself. But the more she tried to hide, the more his gaze lingered—slow, lazy, and deliberate. It settled right on her chest, unapologetically. A flicker of amusement danced in his long, narrow eyes.
Lilian flushed instantly, her face turning crimson. Without thinking, she spun around and made a dash for her bedroom.
But she was too slow.
The man dragged his suitcase inside without urgency, shut the door with a solid click, and strolled after her with maddening calm. In just a few long strides, he caught up to her. One strong arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her back with practiced ease.
Before she could utter a sound, she was pinned to his chest—and then his lips were on hers.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a takeover.
His hand pried her arms apart and locked her wrists in his grasp—warm, commanding, impossible to break free from. His body pressed flush against hers, hard muscle against trembling softness. Her back hit the cabinet behind her as he caged her in completely.
And still, he kissed her.
Cool from the winter air but blazing against her lips, he kissed like he had all the time in the world. He bit, sucked, devoured her until the only thing she could feel was the heat surging through her veins.
At first, Lilian resisted. She really did.
But the more she struggled, the more she realized her body was betraying her. Her knees buckled. Her hands stopped fighting. Her mind, normally so quick, was drowning in static. If not for the cabinet holding her upright, she might’ve already melted into the floor.
His kiss was nothing like she expected. He wasn’t just good—he was devastating. And she was completely out of her depth.
Then his lips trailed down to her ear, brushing hotly against her skin as he murmured, "Mind if I use your bathroom?"
The question hit her like a splash of ice water.
She blinked up at him, dazed, and barely nodded.
He released her like nothing had happened and walked off with long, easy steps into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of running water followed moments later.
Lilian stood frozen, her back still against the cabinet, her breathing uneven. She could feel her heart pounding like crazy inside her chest.
A chill ghosted across her skin, and when she looked down—
Her collar had been stretched wide open.
The old T-shirt she was wearing had slipped low on her shoulder, exposing a faint red mark. Her fingertips brushed it lightly—warm and sore. It was from his mouth.
And beneath the shirt... she wasn’t wearing anything else.
Her face erupted into flames. She yanked the collar back up and bolted to her bedroom.
By the time she emerged again, she’d changed into proper clothes and pulled herself together.
The sound of water still ran from the bathroom, steady and rhythmic. Her gaze swept across the living room and landed on the massive suitcase sitting boldly in the middle of her floor.
He brought his suitcase?
Like he planned to stay?
What the hell is going on?
She bit her lip, feeling a headache coming on. Just what kind of game was Morrison playing? That kiss earlier had been far too real. Her lips still tingled. But she couldn’t read him. And the more she thought about it, the more confused she felt.
Then, right on cue, the water stopped.
A few seconds later, his deep, low voice floated out from behind the door:
"Could you open my suitcase and bring me a clean pair of boxers?"
The silence in the room was deafening.
Lilian stood still like she’d been struck by lightning.
Then, as if he sensed her hesitation, he added, "Lily?"
Her breath caught in her throat. That nickname...
No one called her Lily. She’d always been Lilian. But hearing it from his mouth made something twist in her chest. It felt... wrong. Too intimate. Too casual.
She took a deep breath and called back, trying to sound calm. "I—I don’t know the password to your suitcase. You’ll have to come out and get it yourself."
Perfect excuse. Foolproof.
But then his voice came again, smooth as silk:
"It’s 0808. My birthday."
Why did he give it away so easily?
And... 0808? Seriously?
It suited him too well—double eights, double fortune. Lucky numbers for someone who had never known what it was like to lose.
Morrison’s entire life was a blueprint for success. Born to loving, wealthy parents. Took over MOS Corporation effortlessly at twenty-one. No boardroom coups. No rival siblings. Just him, ruling his empire alongside his best friend Dave. The two of them crushed every market they entered, walking headlines in suits.
Success in business? Obvious.
Success in love? Inevitable.
With that face, that body, and a net worth that could buy half the city, women fell over themselves to chase him. And he? He picked whichever one he liked that week.
He’d never tasted failure. Never even tasted regret.
His mother used to say she gave birth to him on a lucky day—and clearly, the universe agreed.
But none of that mattered now, because Morrison—Mr. Perfect—was asking her to bring him his underwear.
"No way!" Lilian squeaked, her face burning. "You—you can come get it yourself. I’m going out!"
And she slammed her bedroom door behind her like her life depended on it.
In the bathroom, Morrison had just finished drying off. He heard the slam and chuckled under his breath.
Still such a little girl.
He grabbed the nearest towel—light pink, floral edge—and wrapped it loosely around his waist. Then he stepped out, his confidence as casual as ever.
His gaze flicked toward her closed door.
He could still feel her in his arms. The softness of her body. The tremble in her fingers when he kissed her. The taste of her lips.
It had taken everything in him to stop.
But he did stop—because Lilian wasn’t like the other women.
She was clean. Untouched. Too pure to be dragged into the same games he played with the rest of them.
And most importantly, she was Dave’s sister.
A kiss or two? Maybe.
But if he took it too far and broke her heart? Dave would gut him. No questions asked.
And Morrison wasn’t the kind of man to risk everything over a single kiss.
But deep down, he knew.
This wasn’t just a kiss. f .r e\ewebnov(e)(l).c om
This was the beginning of a war.
One he wasn’t entirely sure he could win.
And one he definitely wasn’t ready to lose.