?<strong>Chapter 336:</strong>


    Kristopher hadn’t paid much attention to the music itself.


    Instead, his gaze had drifted, drawn to the soft curve of Carrie’s neckline. His desire stirred, and he moved closer, sitting beside her on the bench.


    Sliding an arm around her waist, he let his fingers brush against her skin, his voice low and husky. “Do you like it?”


    Carrie kept still for a moment, then replied softly, “I do.”


    “How are you going to thank me?” he murmured, leaning close to nibble on her ear. The implication was unmistakable.


    Carrie turned, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The gesture wasn’t for the piano—it was for thepany shares. Without Kristopher’s help, she wouldn’t have secured them so easily. Thepany would’ve dered bankruptcy before she gathered enough resources to stop it.


    “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a rare sincerity. “For helping with thepany, too.”


    Her unexpected gratitude seemed to catch Kristopher off guard. He studied her for a moment, his hand lingering on her waist.


    “Let’s go upstairs.” Carrie leaned into him, whispering.


    Though his desire simmered beneath the surface, Kristopher hesitated. Willow was still in the house, and he wasn’t one for an audience. Instead, he sighed, lifting Carrie effortlessly into his arms and carrying her upstairs.


    That night, Carrie surprised him. Her tentative, unpracticed movements carried an earnestness that Kristopher found unexpectedly alluring. Though she stumbled through her efforts to please him, it was the quiet determination in her gaze that stirred something deeper within him.


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    For once, Kristopher held back. Gone was his usual air ofmand, reced by a rare patience and tenderness. The night unfolded differently—soft, slow, and strangely intimate.


    Afterward, Carriey sprawled across the bed, her body limp with exhaustion. Her arm draped over the pillow, her cheek pressed against the cool fabric. Wisps of damp hair clung to her flushed face.


    Kristopher sat beside her, bare-chested, his presence exuding a quiet dominance. He lit a cigarette, the flicker of the me momentarily illuminating his sharp features. Smoke curledzily from his lips as his gaze settled on her.


    The sight of her—vulnerable and unguarded—sent a ripple of satisfaction through him.


    Carrie stirred slightly, hershes fluttering, and her nose crinkled at the faint scent of smoke. She had always disliked the habit, but watching him now, his movements deliberate and unhurried, she couldn’t deny the appeal. It suited him in a way that made her stomach twist with feelings she refused to name.


    “Why did you suddenly change your mind about the reality show?” he asked, exhaling a puff of smoke.


    Carrie blinked, momentarily caught off guard. It wasn’t surprising that he knew; Kristopher had the means to know whatever he wanted. What startled her was that he cared enough to ask.


    In the past, even if she had told him outright, she doubted he would have reacted.


    “The show approached Norris Group for sponsorship,” he said casually, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Your name came up in the guest list.”


    What he didn’t mention was the truth: that he had specifically instructed Oliver to investigate her schedule after hearing whispers about her reconsidering. Upon confirming it, he personally ensured Norris Group would sponsor the show. But he wouldn’t admit that. Saying it aloud felt dangerously close to begging for her acknowledgment. He preferred she read between the lines.


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