My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage

Elizabeth knew that resisting now would only appear overly theatrical.

Elizabeth’s voice was scarcely a murmur as she spoke, “Darling,” the word tinged with a shy vulnerability.

She had uttered it countless times before—sometimes with sincerity, sometimes as part of a carefully rehearsed act.

Yet never had the word sounded so tender, so hauntingly beautiful, as it did at that moment.

He gazed down at her radiant face, droplets of water trickling from her damp hair to her temple.

In her eyes, gleaming with emotion, he saw his own reflection.

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

Elijah knew with certainty—this yearning wasn’t caused by the drug.

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

He recalled a far darker time, ambushed during a business trip abroad, where he’d been subjected to interrogation-grade substances potent enough to nearly shatter him.

For seven grueling hours, he had endured, using a knife to carve into his thigh, the pain his only tether to consciousness.

That unyielding resolve had secured him a position 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, passionate pitch.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Elijah,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice trembling, thick with unspoken desire.

“My husband.”

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

Her words sent a surge of satisfaction through Elijah.

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.

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

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

Elizabeth’s breath hitched, a soft, involuntary moan slipping past her lips, as she melted into him.

His hands moved with purpose, slipping the delicate fabric away, lifting her leg as he finally joined with her.

A sharp sting pierced through her, and a cry escaped her before she could stifle it.

Elijah slowed, his lips covering hers, silencing her cries with the tenderness of his kiss.

His restraint, his tenderness, touched something deep within her.

Eager to give as much as she received, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her legs circling his waist.

Her response shattered the last remnants of his control.

The air thickened with heat and desire as their bodies found a rhythm that was new to them.

Elijah was driven by a hunger that could not be satisfied, his movements frantic, as though he were tasting something forbidden, desperate for more.

At first, Elizabeth was intoxicated by the pleasure, but soon it became overwhelming.

By the end, she lay there, exhausted and yielding, letting him take what he needed.

Half-conscious, drifting in and out of sleep, she felt herself spiraling toward climax over and over again.

When she awoke, the sky outside glowed with the soft warmth of sunset.

Elijah was gone, but the air still hummed with the memory of their intimacy.

The room, however, had been meticulously cleaned.

Disoriented, she turned over, thinking it was still morning, and tried to pull the covers back over her.

“Awake? Perfect timing,” Elijah’s voice broke through the haze.

“Dinner’s ready.

Take a shower, and let’s head downstairs.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, his bathrobe hanging loosely, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest.

The sight of him sent a rush of memories flooding back, and Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with heat.

Flustered, she quickly looked away, desperate to change the subject.

“It’s already evening? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“No one came by.

I only had a couple of cookies at noon.” He glanced at the empty snack cabinet, his tone light.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident.

“The room…?”

“I cleaned it,” he said with a casual shrug.

Her gaze drifted to the laptop on the bedside table, its screen frozen on a partially completed proposal—more than half finished.

Her body ached from the night before, and all she wanted was to collapse back into the comfort of the bed.

Yet, there he was, moving through his day as if nothing had happened.

She pouted and swung her legs off the bed, throwing the covers aside.

But as soon as her feet hit the floor, her legs buckled, and she stumbled.

Elijah’s hands were around her in an instant, steadying her with ease.

Flustered, Elizabeth murmured, “My legs feel a little weak…”

A faint, self-satisfied smile tugged at Elijah’s lips.

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she met his smug expression.