?<strong>Chapter 188:</strong>


    His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “Call me.” His words were muffled, and she barely registered them, murmuring a distracted, “Hmm.”


    He tightened his grip slightly, a teasing reprimand, until her eyes fluttered open to meet his, glistening with emotion.


    He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes locking with hers as he repeated, “Call me.”


    “Kristopher,” she murmured, somewhat dazed.


    A small smile curved his lips as he guided her gently.


    “Call me darling.”


    A Little Weak


    Carrie knew that resisting now would only seem overly dramatic.


    Carrie’s voice was barely a whisper as she said, “Darling,” the wordced with a shy vulnerability.


    She had said it countless times before—sometimes in earnest, sometimes as part of a carefully crafted performance. Yet never had the word sounded so tender, so achingly beautiful, as it did now.


    He gazed down at her radiant face, droplets of water trickling from her damp hair to her temple. In her eyes, shimmering with emotion, he saw his own reflection.


    The room was steeped in silence, broken only by the soft cadence of their uneven breaths and the hammering of their hearts.


    g?lnσν???s．c????, a world of tales


    Kristopher knew with certainty—this longing wasn’t the drug’s doing.


    The trace of aphrodisiac in the drinks had been negligible to him, barely worth a second thought.


    He recalled a far darker time, ambushed during a business trip abroad, where he’d been subjected to interrogation-grade drugs potent enough to nearly shatter him. For seven harrowing hours, he had endured, using a de to carve into his thigh, the pain his only tether to consciousness.


    That ruthless grit had secured him a ce in foreign markets, earning him both respect and fear from corporate giants and shadowed underworld figures alike.


    His eyes smoldered as they met hers, his voice dropping to a low, fervent pitch. “Do you know who I am?”


    “You’re Kristopher,” Carrie murmured, her voice quivering, thick with unspoken desire. “My husband.”


    Heat radiated through her, unbearable and all-consuming, and he was the only balm she craved.


    Her words sent a surge of satisfaction through Kristopher. In this moment, she knew—this closeness was theirs alone. And it could only ever be him, just as it could only ever be her.


    Kristopher’s fingers softly swept the damp strands from her forehead, his touch lingering as he traced the curve of her cheek, before his lips imed hers once more.


    This kiss was deeper, urgent, as though he sought to drown in her.


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