Maxwell Peary’s entire body stiffened, all sensation concentrated on a certain hardness in his lower abdomen. By his ear was Nia Mitchell’s timid voice. "Hey! Maxwell Peary, put me down, or I’ll start crying!" she warned. UGH. He took back what he had said earlier. If this was her idea of timid, then what would she sound like when she was truly furious? A twitch formed at the corner of Maxwell’s mouth. Just as he was about to let go of her, she started to struggle. It was the kind of struggle that had no chance of succeeding. Maxwell categorized this struggle as a tantalizing resistance. So, without any need for further restraint, he directly threw her onto the soft, large bed, and his hot body pressed against hers. Many years later, Nia Mitchell, after a vigorous round of exercise, lay on the bed as if dead. Despite being utterly exhausted, she asked a question that had been haunting her for years. Why, even though she had resisted, had he never let her go? Once again, she wept bitterly for her own lack of strength. It turned out her desperate struggle, in his eyes, was a tantalizing resistance. As evening settled and the lamps were lit, Nia Mitchell slowly opened her eyes and weakly rolled over. UGH, my whole body aches. Damn it, if Maxwell Peary is asleep, I’m definitely going to slap him. She didn’t know that earlier, she had already slapped the CEO once. Nia Mitchell flipped over to face the CEO, ready to yell and hit him, only to discover... What the hell, the CEO isn’t even on the bed! Nia Mitchell struggled to sit up. Where is Maxwell Peary? She furrowed her brows and glanced around. He wasn’t in the room or on the balcony. The bathroom was silent, seemingly empty. "Maxwell?" Nia Mitchell called out softly, reaching for the bathrobe thrown on the floor and putting it on to cover the dense spread of bruises. Nia Mitchell’s lips curved into a smirk, and she immediately raised her voice slightly. "Maxwell Peary! Enjoyed yourself and then just ran off! You big scoundrel! You total scoundrel!" "Are you cursing me?" Suddenly, Maxwell Peary’s distinctive voice came from behind her. UGH. Nia Mitchell turned around rigidly. Seeing the CEO’s face, her legs felt weak. "No, no, why would I curse you, Maxwell? After all, you’re my husband." Nia Mitchell plastered a smile on her face, her expression utterly fawning. "What am I to you?" Maxwell Peary raised an eyebrow. "My husband," Nia Mitchell answered loudly, and continued to call him sweetly, over and over. "Husband~~~ Husband~~~" Her sweet, soft voice echoed into Maxwell Peary’s heart, and all his anger instantly dissipated. He bent down and swept her up in a princess carry; in an instant, Nia Mitchell’s world spun ninety degrees. UGH! What is the CEO trying to do now? Feeling him carry her towards the bed—Oh god, the CEO isn’t thinking of... wanting *that* again, is he? UGH, no, no, my back is so sore. She looked at him with watery eyes, reaching out a soft little paw to clutch at Maxwell Peary’s collar. "I... I don’t want to..." Maxwell Peary raised an eyebrow. This Rabina Mitchell, surely she doesn’t think I want to...? COUGH! COUGH! Am I really that inhumane? Holding Nia Mitchell, he had a clear view of the bruises covering her body. "Nia Mitchell, what on earth goes through that head of yours all day?" he rebuked her sternly. He set her down on the bed, then bent over to help her put on her slippers. UGH... Nia Mitchell was a bit slow to react. Wait a minute, isn’t the CEO the one with all the inappropriate thoughts?