Arden had successfully proved two things: he was fully recovered, as his body remained as strong as ever, and Sandra indeed enjoyed hooking up with him.

Sandra lay on Arden's arm, her face nestled against his chest, her breath warm against his skin. Strands of her long, black hair clung to her bare shoulders, the contrast making her sweat-kissed skin appear even smoother, fairer, and more radiant.

The curtains in Sandra's bedroom weren't very thick, leaving the room well-lit. For the first time, in full daylight, Arden truly admired the body he had been longing for.

His fingers traced slowly over the graceful curve from her waist to her hips, back and forth, unable to resist the touch.

Her skin was smooth and vibrant, with a firmness that set her apart from the typical softness of other women. Beneath it, her toned muscles were gently sculpted, encased in a delicate layer of fat—not as rigid as a man's. She moved with effortless energy, her joints fluid and flexible, embodying endless possibilities. Once a man experienced this, it was something he couldn't easily forget.

Arden got excited again, and his hand, which had been rubbing her waistline, began to wander.

Sandra impatiently slapped his hand away. "What do you want?"

Arden rolled onto her, answering viciously, "Fuck you."

Sandra squirmed and refused to cooperate. "You've been tossing and turning for hours now. Aren't you tired?"

"It doesn't matter if I die of exhaustion on you."

"A head full of sperm."

Sandra lifted her foot and kicked Arden off the bed, then rolled over and got up. She grabbed her clothes, planning to take a shower since her body felt sweaty and uncomfortable.

Arden lay on the floor beside the bed, propped up on one arm, studying Sandra as though he had stumbled upon an uncharted continent. 

During their passionate moments, she was a warrior—fierce, unyielding, and defiant. Yet, every time the passion subsided, she would be looking at him like a drenched, pitiful puppy. But now, that fragile girl was nowhere to be found—her gaze was sharp and steady, so clear and resolute that it caught him off guard.

Sandra stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water, left in the hose, came out slightly cool, sending a refreshing jolt through her and clearing her mind.

The moment Arden entered her body again, she felt an invisible wall inside her chest crumble. Something heavy—an oppressive weight that had pressed on her heart for what felt like forever—finally shattered into pieces, leaving her strangely liberated.

She kept telling herself that a one-night stand was just that: a fleeting encounter, nothing more. Even though she had given her first time to a complete stranger, she convinced herself it wasn't a big deal.

But deep down, the girl shaped by years of conservative upbringing and moral dogma couldn't be silenced. Those ingrained beliefs wove a web of guilt and self-reproach that clung to her thoughts, making her feel subconsciously ashamed of what she had done.

She blamed it all on Arden. She told herself he had coaxed her, used her, and left her feeling lost. This unnecessary self-denial kept her trapped in a vicious cycle—always retreating before him, always finding herself passive, vulnerable, and sorrowful. She wasn't just avoiding him, but also the mistakes she didn't want to confront.

She hated the feeling of losing. Paying him for the night was, in her eyes, a desperate attempt to rewrite the narrative—to create a plausible excuse that would make her feel like she hadn't been taken advantage of.

It was hard to tell who had taken advantage of whom. He had gone to great lengths to please her body, while she had simply sat back and enjoyed it. A man like Arden—stylish, fit, skilled, and considerate—wasn't someone you came across every day.

The moment Arden had said women had the right to enjoy sexual pleasure, something inside her clicked. Men and women should be equal, she realized. She wasn't being used; she was enjoying herself. It was a fair exchange. Feeling excited and pleasured, yet blaming him for seducing her, seemed too petty. She couldn't keep holding onto that guilt when, deep down, she knew she had sought out the experience as much as he had.

The bathroom door creaked open. Sandra glanced back but continued her shower.

Arden casually tossed a used condom and tissues into the trash, standing in front of the toilet to relieve himself. His eyes, however, drifted frequently to the blurred, delicate figure behind the fogged glass.

Sandra didn't react to his sudden intrusion and even glanced briefly at his lower body.

What was this? A shift in her mentality—from girl to woman? For the first time, Arden felt the illusion of being played by her.

The glass door slid open, letting in a cool breeze along with a heated body.

Sandra rinsed shampoo foam off her face and narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing in here?"

His answer came in the form of his body pressed against hers.

Sandra pushed away his dick, which was rubbing against her body. "You didn't even clean yourself after going to the toilet? You're rubbing pee all over me!"

Arden wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back into his embrace. "Don't all dogs using pee to mark their territory?" he teased, his voice laced with mischief.

This rogue was too disgusting. Sandra grabbed the shampoo and squeezed it on him.

"Hey, isn't this for hair?" Arden asked. He had used her shampoo and body wash before and knew the difference.

Sandra sneered. "A dog is covered in hair anyway. What's the difference?"

One reason rogues were called rogues was their ability to twist insults into jokes.

Arden rubbed the shampoo foam onto Sandra's body. The foam made her skin even slipperier, and his hands roamed up and down happily.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Sandra slapped his hands away.

Arden smirked, his tone shameless. "Just smoothing my kitten's fur. It's not good to always be so disobedient."

But smoothing and petting didn't necessarily lead to obedience. Sandra lifted her foot to kick him, but Arden swiftly shielded his sensitive areas. His hand accidentally hit the bruise on her foot, and Sandra cried out in pain, slipping on a patch of shampoo and losing her balance.

Instead of hitting the cold, wet ground, she fell into a warm embrace. She opened her eyes and met Arden's gaze—his eyes burned with a fire no amount of water could extinguish.

Arden pressed her firmly against the wall, her back meeting the cool tiles. Instinctively, she leaned forward, colliding into his chest. His kiss carried the faint, bitter taste of shampoo, muffling her protests. The only sounds that remained were soft, unsteady breaths and the occasional moan, swallowed by the steam-filled air.

The lubrication from the warm water wasn't particularly effective, and as her muscles tensed from the cold tiles behind her, the intrusion became slightly more difficult than usual. Without the protective layer, such tangible sensations drove both of them nearly insane.

Arden scooped up both her legs, wrapping them around his waist and burying his head in her breast, unable to stop himself craving for more.

Warm water cascaded from above, blocking the faint light from the ceiling, and everything in front of her was swaying. She didn't want to think, only wished to sink...

Sandra felt the firm muscles of his back tense under her palms, and in that moment, a flash of clarity cut through her foggy, drowsy mind. She loosened her legs wrapped around his waist, disengaged herself, and exclaimed, "No!"

Almost.

Sandra removed the showerhead and rinsed the milky white fluid off her skin. Her pulse pounded in her eardrums, a result of the strenuous exercise, and the fear of almost losing control.

Letting herself enjoy it was one thing, but carelessly getting pregnant was another. After all, despite the shared experience, men and women couldn't be 100% equal when it came to the consequences.

Arden was also alarmed. He had always been extra cautious, never making a mistake in the past ten years. But this time, if it hadn't been for Sandra's vigilance, he might have completely lost himself in the moment and forgotten the consequences entirely.

Arden wasn't afraid of Sandra carrying any diseases, but he wasn't ready to accept or snuff out a new life either. He wasn't the kind of man who only cared about his own satisfaction and then told a woman to take Plan B. He always made sure he did his part.

Did this woman possess some kind of dark magic? Could she cast a spell? How else could she make him crave her so intensely that, for the first time in his life, he had completely indulged to the point of losing himself?

The tension of the moment had passed. The lingering fear afterward wasn't true fear—calming the woman in front of him was far more important. If he didn't, it could leave a psychological scar, making things even harder to deal with in the future.

Sandra focused on cleaning herself, unwilling to let her thoughts wander any further.

Arden wrapped his arms around her from behind, his lips brushing gently against her ear. "My little kitten, it's okay. Don't be afraid. Good girl, it's going to be alright."

Those weren't exactly the words she wanted to hear at this moment. 

But Arden wasn't a fool—he knew better than to say, "I'll take responsibility." He wasn't some naive young man, either. Yet standing aside, saying nothing, doing nothing—that would have been even worse.

Arden gently coaxed Sandra out of the bathroom and back into her room. Leaning over the headboard, he ran his fingers through her long, half-damp hair, only to brush against an uneven patch of skin on her back. Sandra yelped in pain.

"Lie down properly," Arden instructed, carefully moving her hair aside. His brows furrowed as he spotted a few scrapes marring her otherwise flawless back—apparently scuffed up on the tiles.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arden's chest tightened. "Where's your first aid kit?"

Sandra obediently lay down on the bed, letting him apply the Polysporin. She pouted, muttering something under her breath, though he couldn't quite catch what she was complaining about.

What else could she possibly be upset about? Sandra couldn't believe she hadn't even noticed the injuries herself—too absorbed in the moment to care.

Arden's touch was careful as he applied the ointment to her wounds. It felt warm at first, then cool, a surprising relief against her skin. Sandra sighed softly, content, and buried her face in the pillow.

A different sensation—warm, moist—replaced the cotton swab on her back.

Sandra turned her head, catching sight of Arden still holding the tube of ointment, his lips trailing up her skin before finally capturing hers.

To Arden, Sandra looked like a white cat—squinting in satisfaction, languid and irresistibly alluring. He gazed at her, his voice low and indulgent.

"Are you satisfied?"

Sandra shook her head.

Arden made an exaggeratedly surprised face, then laughed as he rubbed her butt. "No way, still want more? Are you trying to drain me?"

Sandra shook her head again. "I haven't eaten since I got home early this morning." After hours of intense aerobic activity, it would be strange if she wasn't hungry.

Arden, suddenly aware of his own hunger, asked, "Do you have anything to eat?"

Sandra tilted her head thoughtfully. "There's a pizza in the freezer. Why don't you preheat the oven?"

"Why should I go? You still owe me a meal."

"I don't feel like moving right now."

Arden glanced at the girl sprawled lazily across the bed, utterly content. A slow grin spread across his face—like a cat that had stolen a fish.

No. He was the cat that had stolen the fish.

"I'll carry you then," Arden said, rolling her onto her back and effortlessly lifting her by slipping his arms under her armpits and her legs.

Sandra smacked him hard on the head. "Ah, put me down! I need to get dressed..."

Arden had never cooked a day in his life—or even stepped into a kitchen, not even to boil water. At home, he relied on water dispenser and had someone come weekly to replace the water jug.

But, being a quick learner, he figured he could manage this.

Sandra threw on a camisole and shorts, then pulled Arden's oversized T-shirts over them as she guided Arden through the kitchen. Arden, only wearing a pair of pants, wandered around the kitchen, his bare chest on display. He looked both out of place and effortlessly showy.

"What first?" he asked eagerly, ready for action.

"Turn it clockwise to 375 degrees," Sandra instructed.

Arden glanced around, puzzled, before finally figuring out which knob controlled the oven.

As he turned it, he grumbled, "The ones at my house are all push-buttons."

Not that he'd ever used them—Moya had handled it before.

"Ari, you're too talkative," Sandra teased, holding a Swiffer duster like a pointer. "Take the pizza out of the box and cut open the bag."

"..."

"Hey, don't open the oven door yet—it's still preheating."

"..."

"There's a piece of wax paper underneath! If you don't take it off, it'll catch fire."

"..."

"Just put it on the baking sheet. Be careful—it's hot."

Arden closed the oven door and turned back to Sandra with a wicked smile. "Little kitten, why are you so talkative? I think it's better if I gag you."

He strode toward her, a playful glint in his eyes. Sandra waved the Swiffer duster in playful defiance as he closed the distance between them. The two were lost in laughter and teasing when suddenly, a knock at the door brought them to an abrupt pause.

Both froze—had they been too noisy?

Sandra raised her index finger to her lips, signaling Arden to stay quiet, then waved her hand toward the bedroom, instructing him to hide. She walked to the door herself and called out, 'Who's there?'

"Sandy, it's me." Yao's voice replied.

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