Late into the night, through the partially open bathroom door, violently shifting patches of light danced on the floor, accompanied by intermittent, muffled groans and whispers that lasted for a long time.
When Claudia woke again, it was already the next morning.
She moved her body with difficulty, the pervasive soreness a stark reminder of York's ferocity the night before.
From the vanity to the bedroom to the shower, he had been like an insatiable wolf, determined to devour her whole.
York emerged from the walk-in closet, impeccably dressed and radiating satisfaction.
Seeing that Claudia was awake, he walked to the bedside. Just as his elegant fingers were about to brush away a strand of hair from her chest, his phone rang.
York glanced at her, then turned to answer the call.
Claudia sat up in bed, watching him silently.
He stood there in a perfectly pressed suit, exuding the powerful, dignified aura of a man long accustomed to being in charge—a stark contrast to the wild, unrestrained man who had taken her in bed last night.
His phone, once always on silent, now had its ringer on full blast.
She could hear every word of his conversation with Ann.
In a gentle voice, he told Ann he had ordered a model warship for their son and would have it delivered soon.
He also thoughtfully advised Ann to take good care of the child and not to work so hard.
Claudia's hand, gripping the blanket, trembled from the force of her hold.
Her face was ashen, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She said nothing.


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