Chapter 143

Enoch opened the bedroom door.

Florence lived in the annex of the Hains Trading Company headquarters. She helped Keith with the business, but she didn’t need to live in such a cramped place.

After her divorce, she had taken back the name Florence Love Seymour. The Seymour family had collapsed, but surprisingly her personal reputation wasn’t bad. Linus’s disgrace had dragged him down so far that Florence—who had endured him—was lifted up in contrast.

She could easily have lived in a fine house again. Even repurchasing the old Seymour estate wouldn’t have been difficult. But Florence had refused.

“Why should I live alone in that terrible house?”

In truth, she had never occupied much of that mansion anyway. Still, Enoch hated that she now confined herself to a narrow annex. He wanted her to enjoy everything she deserved.

Keith called it a servant’s mindset. Enoch had never been a servant, but maybe it was something like that. To him, Florence was always the neatly dressed youngest daughter, trailing behind her family.

But Florence wanted none of that. A single room of her own was enough. Working with her own hands, earning her own money—that was what truly delighted her.

Even so, Enoch couldn’t help but ache. Not just for the five years stolen by Hyunji, but for all the years of her youth he hadn’t seen, even while living in the same house.

“It’s just an excuse… maybe childish rivalry. I wanted to do better for her than the Seymours, better than Linus. But Florence never compared us.”

“You didn’t run away,” she teased.
“Why would I run?”

He wasn’t afraid—just overwhelmed. Florence, sitting on the bed, pouted.
“You kept putting it off. I thought maybe you hated me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s so ridiculous?”
“If I could’ve hated you, I would’ve done it long ago.”

Enoch had come this far precisely because he couldn’t hate her.
“You cursed me and told me to get lost, but I still couldn’t hate you. How could I hate you now?”
“I never cursed.”
“You did—with your eyes.”

Florence shifted over to make space. Enoch sat beside her with a heavy sigh.

“This nightgown—who picked it?”
“I did.”
“Does it even function as clothing?”

To him, it was barely fabric. Sheer enough to see through, offering no warmth. Florence only grinned.
“You like it?”
“….”
“You can’t look away.”

She chuckled at how he scowled but still couldn’t tell her to change.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“Shame you’re still alive.”
“Florence…”
“I like when you say my name.”

She smiled. He finally gave in, pulling her onto his lap. Her eyes widened.
“But you said I couldn’t sit here.”

He had scolded her before for trying—his face severe, ears burning red. Remembering, she glanced at them again. Not red this time. A bit disappointing.

“I’m your husband. You can do anything to me.”
“And you—can you do anything to me?”
“No. You need permission.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Unfair, but right. Who knows what you’d do otherwise.”

Florence tilted her head innocently.
“What would you do to me, Enoch?”

“….”

“What are you planning?”

She laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands caught her arm—soft skin over firm muscle. She brushed her nose against his jaw. He smelled of fresh wind and soap, as always. She pressed her lips to his chin.

“You’re not stopping me?”
“….”
“Enoch, I’ve figured you out.”

She shifted on his lap, and Enoch clenched his jaw. He kept his face stern, but his hands slid from her waist down over her hips. She kissed beneath his lip. He groaned, then finally bit her mouth gently, kissing her slow and cautious, tasting everything.

Her teeth, her tongue, the soft roof of her mouth—he left nothing untouched.

“Mm—”

She hadn’t known a mouth could be so sensitive. Each stroke made her shiver and moan, and he pressed harder wherever she trembled.

“Florence…”
“Mmh.”

He pulled her close, rolled her beneath him, and stared down at her flushed face. Her lips were wet, her pale neck long and delicate. He kissed her scarred shoulder through the flimsy fabric—then tore it off altogether. She raised her arms to help.

“Is it ugly?”
“I’ll be angry if you say that.”

She laughed, running her fingers through his hair. His grip tightened on her waist.

If she thought he hated her scars, she wouldn’t have chosen such a sheer nightgown.

“I’m not hurting, Enoch.”
“I know. You’re beautiful.”
“You’ve got strange tastes.”
“My taste is you. If that’s strange, then you’re strange.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder. His face had been stiff since the moment he entered, tension freezing his features. Florence found it a little sad—she wasn’t fragile, yet he seemed afraid of breaking her.

She trusted him more than he trusted himself.

His lips were wet, his usually neat hair messy, his robe fallen open to reveal his chest. His eyes were red-tinged, his breath ragged. She looked at him and smiled.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked.
“…I think my taste is fine after all, Enoch.”
“Ha.”
“I married well.”
“We’ll see.”

The marriage had only just begun. Not even the first night was over.

“Tell me tomorrow—if it’s really good.”

Enoch was far stricter than she was. But Florence decided, whatever happened tonight, she wouldn’t say a single bad word tomorrow.