The Red Rose of Manhattan Chapter 14

At night, he habitually slept on the inside of the bed.

Half-asleep, his arm automatically reached for the other side, finding a warm, pliant body.

Serena obediently snuggled close, wearing carefully chosen, subtle perfume.

Something was wrong.

The body temperature was wrong—lacking that vivid heat.

The scent was wrong—missing that sweet, natural fragrance.

Even the soft breathing in sleep was wrong.

Lily slept restlessly, unconsciously stealing covers, burrowing into his arms like a small creature seeking warmth, wrapping around him with her limbs.

Ethan's eyes snapped open, a strong wave of rejection surging through him.

For the first time, he almost roughly pushed away Serena, got out of bed, his tone carrying barely concealed coldness: "You sleep. I just remembered I have urgent documents to handle."

Without waiting for Serena's hurt, confused expression, he went straight to his study and shut the door.

He needed solitude, needed to calm down, needed to expel that increasingly clear figure from his mind.

A week later, at an important business gala, Ethan attended with Serena.

Serena wore an expensive gown, elegant and poised, handling conversations gracefully, earning praise from many attendees.

Everyone thought they were the perfect couple.

But Ethan found the event unbearably dull. The air thick with champagne and perfume made it hard to breathe.

During the event, a jealous socialite deliberately spilled red wine on Serena's dress.

Serena's eyes immediately reddened, looking at Ethan with tears threatening to fall, as if she'd suffered the greatest injustice, needing his protection and comfort.

Before, Ethan would have found her fragility endearing.

But now, seeing her tears, he inexplicably thought of Lily—

If she faced this situation, she'd probably be stunned for a second, then raise an eyebrow with a proud, brilliant smile, maybe even throw her own drink back, casually saying "Oops, my hand slipped," never showing weakness in public.

That vivid life force, burning bright as wildfire.

The stark contrast shocked him, widening the crack in a hidden corner of his heart.

Just then, a dissolute young man with a grudge against the Sterling family, accompanied by a new girlfriend who vaguely resembled Lily, swaggered over with drinks. Half-drunk, he made lewd comments: "Well, well, Mr. Frost, long time no see! Heard that wild red rose from your backyard got transplanted somewhere else, off living it up abroad? Such a shame... I was always hoping for a taste myself..."

"BAM!"

Before he could finish, Ethan's fist connected with his face without warning!

Fast, precise, brutal! The playboy didn't see it coming—he screamed, crashed to the floor, blood spurting from his nose!

The entire room fell silent!

Everyone stared in shock at this completely unexpected scene!

Ethan stood in the light, methodically adjusting his slightly rumpled cuffs, his eyes dark and cold as a Siberian winter, radiating a pressure that dropped the temperature several degrees.

He looked down at the man wailing on the floor, his voice quiet but cutting like ice blades:

"What are you?"

"You don't deserve to mention her."