Tangled Temptations

In a lavishly decorated bedroom bathed in dim, warm light, Orlena lay motionless on a plush bed, bound and helpless. The lingering scent of a familiar aftershave teased her senses - the brand he always used.

This was the third time she had been "kidnapped" this month.

Each time, he would bring her here, blindfold her, and lightly tie her wrists with his tie, coaxing her to sleep beside him without ever laying a harmful hand on her. He would hold her through the night, and on some occasions, he would touch her when he was in a particularly good mood.

The sound of faint footsteps approached, followed by the sinking of the bed as he climbed in beside her. Warm fingers gently caressed her face, admiring her beauty. Finally, he halted his movements, gazing at her with a look of longing.

Orlena didn't struggle. Her tears slowly dampened the tie that covered her eyes as she softly wept. "Brett, aren't you supposed to be getting married? Why do you keep bringing me here?" She asked, her voice choked with emotion. "Am I to be your mistress?"

His pause confirmed her suspicions. She knew it was him.

Orlena sobbed quietly. She could recognize him even in death; his scent was too familiar, too intoxicating. With a surge of strength, perhaps because he hadn't tied her wrists too tightly, she managed to free herself.

Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she found herself staring into his. Her chest heaved as she took in the sight of the man she had loved for so many years. "Brett," she began, her lips trembling. "I may not be very smart, but you can't keep fooling around with me. I can't be any man's side piece."

Half a year ago, she had been drunk. They had spent the night together, letting their passions run wild.

When he visited Peterborough, they would occasionally spend the night together, considering he didn't have any other woman in his life. After all, they shared a child together, and he had promised that he would marry her in two years.

She was overjoyed and genuinely believed they would marry. But he was getting married now, and Mr. Brett's wedding announcement was splashed across the newspapers. The bride was not Orlena.

Despite this, he still wanted to sleep with her.

Brett watched her teary eyes, pulled a cigarette from his pack, and lit it with a touch of annoyance. He wanted to tell her to wait for another six months.

He wanted to tell her that the wedding announcement was fake, but how many "two years" could a woman have in her youth, and how many "half a years" could she afford to wait?

Brett's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Finally, he let out a soft sigh. "Orlena, I'm sorry."

He gently pulled her closer. She resisted, stubbornly glaring at him with bloodshot eyes.

He knew she loved him deeply. This love was a mix of infatuation, admiration, and memories of their countless nights together.

Brett gently touched her head, his voice hoarse but gentle. "I made breakfast. Go freshen up. Donny will send a car for you later." His tone was a blend of lover and fatherly concern.

With that, he left the bedroom. He walked away swiftly as if fearing that something would chase him or that he would regret his actions.

Brett stood in the hallway, his fist colliding with the white wall, staining it with his blood. His life was filled with too many restraints. He couldn't be with the woman he loved. What kind of man was he?

In the bathroom, Orlena sat by the

met

cry

toilet, silently crying. She knew it was pathetic, but she couldn't control herself. She could only this way because once she returned home, she had to act as if nothing had happened.

She had to be a good daughter. She had to be a good mother to Daniel. She was still the dazzling top model in public.

"Orlena, the moment you step out of this house, you can't cry anymore." She told herself.

In a daze, she found a pack of cigarettes, likely left behind by Brett. She lit one, reminiscing about their first meeting.

Back then, she was an innocent young girl, and he was the highly respected Brett. She would always remember the evening when eight luxurious Audi cars pulled up at her home, the Horigan Mansion, and a group of men clad in black suits escorted the handsome man into her world.

He was Brett, the well-known Mr. Brett of Brockville, and Eloise's uncle.

That day, Orlena wore a white dress, which was actually her nightgown. From her

elevated position, she called out to him like a timid kitten, "Brett."

He had turned to look at her then.noveldrama

Seeing his face, she had to admit her heart raced. She never thought Eloise's uncle would be this handsome and influential. He responded casually to her greeting and then returned to his

conversation with her father. She had never seen anyone speak to her father with such nonchalance.

Later, after Brett left, her father called him an cunning old fox, but her brother didn't say anything. She thought her father was wrong. Brett was quite gentle and polite when he spoke.

Back then, she wondered how someone could be so handsome and comforting. She thought she might have actually liked this man, Brett...