You Had Me, You Lost Me, You'll Never Find Me novel Chapter 42

Sylvia's breath was scorching, and she couldn't register his words. "It hurts... Ugh..."

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing closer to him. Her voice trembled as she let out another soft, whimpering sound. "It hurts... Mom..."

She clung to him, rubbing against him, pressing her cheek flush against his skin.

Ashton suspected she couldn't even see who was in front of her. He dragged her into the bathroom and doused her under the cold shower.

Then he called his private doctor and had him prescribe some medication.

Sylvia finally made it through the night. Before she woke up, Ashton had already gotten to the bottom of it. William had spiked some fruit and used the name of one of Sylvia's coworkers to get her to eat it.

Sylvia had been incredibly careful, but against someone deliberately plotting against her, it was impossible to avoid.

If she hadn't run into Ashton, Sylvia wouldn't have escaped being entirely taken advantage of.

Ashton stared at the woman on the bed. Her stunning curves were fully exposed. He had personally changed her clothes, and a primal male instinct had flared up in that moment, but he held back.

Honestly, if he had taken her, it wouldn't have mattered much; he had a ready-made excuse.

But if he merely wanted physical release, he certainly wasn't short on women.

He just hated the complication.

Little did he know, this incident convinced Sylvia that he was a true gentleman. Despite his rogueish edge and the fact that he ran a nightclub, she saw him as someone untainted by the sleaze, a man of strong principles who wasn't driven by lust.

Later, when she experienced his relentless dominance in bed, she realized how spectacularly wrong she was.

-

Ashton lay on his bed, an ice pack resting coolly against his forehead, his body alternating between hot and cold flashes.

His mind felt slightly heavy as he toyed with his phone, tapping open a photo Vivienne had sent him.

Beneath a blooming crabapple tree, Sylvia and Julian Sterling stood facing each other. Julian was leaning in, looking as though he were about to kiss her in the next second.

Even if it wasn't a kiss, the distance between them had clearly crossed the boundary of mere friends.

Ashton stared coldly, a mocking smirk curling his lips, yet a dark, simmering fury flashed in his predatory gaze. Even though he had braced himself for this, the bitter anger in his chest refused to dissipate.

He thought back to their first time, how effortlessly Sylvia had given up her resistance.

Was this woman just inherently easy at her core?

At the time, Sylvia had returned to campus and was working at a cafe in her spare time. He had seen her file from William and found himself instinctively driving to her neighborhood.

He had pulled up in a blue supercar. Within moments, several pretty girls approached to hit on him, but Ashton ignored them, walking coldly into the cafe.

The girls exchanged looks, and the prettiest among them stubbornly followed him inside.

Sylvia was looking down, making drinks according to the orders. Feeling someone walk in, she reflexively asked, "Hello, what can I get for you?" only to meet the man's indifferent stare.

She never expected Ashton to walk into a small shop like this. His presence was completely out of place; his tall, athletic frame made the space feel instantly cramped. Meeting his cold eyes and spotting the gorgeous girl beside him, a vague realization settled in her heart.

Sure enough, Ashton said, "I'll take a mango pomelo sago. For my girlfriend."

His voice was rich and deep, carrying an inexplicably seductive tone.

She shyly lowered her gaze, silently giving in to his touch.

During her first time, Ashton showed no mercy. He took her twice on the bed, and then again in the shower.

He gripped her slender waist tightly. He didn't kiss her lips, maintaining a sliver of restraint even as he ravaged her.

It was as if by denying her a kiss, he was holding back from taking that final step, from dropping his ultimate defense.

At the peak of their passion, panting heavily, he wrapped her legs around his waist and carried her back to the bed, as though he wanted to bury himself in her until the end of time.

Sylvia later asked Ashton why he had been so cold to her at the club, but he just brushed it off.

How could he admit that the moment he saw her, he had a strange premonition—that if she ever attached herself to him, he would never be able to shake her off.

He couldn't say if she was like a delicate vine or cotton candy. Probably more like cotton candy—her rosy lips constantly tempted him to kiss her, to taste her undeniable sweetness.

Ashton had always been so guarded with his kisses, which was why seeing that photo sent waves of icy dread and irrational, jealous paranoia straight to his core.

The night was thick and heavy. Ashton lit a cigarette and stayed silent for a long time.

Thinking of Sylvia's heartless words, Grandfather Wyatt's instructions, and that blindingly painful scene, a deep exhaustion washed over him. His feverish body burned hotly, making him feel as though nothing mattered anymore.

Since she was already determined to leave, maybe he should just let it go.

Forcing a woman who didn't love him to stay was just pathetic.

Ashton Wyatt would never allow himself to sink to such a pitiable state.