Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 64: The Drinking Game

Chapter 64: The Drinking Game

Taking a deep breath, Emma approached the mansion’s grand doors, her eyes slightly red, tears still clinging to her cheeks.

Mrs. Harris opened the door, taking Emma’s coat and noticing the tear streaks on her face.

Glancing towards the living room, she softly whispered in Emma’s ear, "Miss Emma, wipe your tears. The master doesn’t like to see you like this."

Emma numbly lifted her head, heeding Mrs. Harris’s advice, her heart empty as she looked at her hands.

She didn’t even have the right to cry, her emotions dictated by the man’s moods.

"Come here," Damien Sterling’s voice pierced through the air like a cold breeze to Emma’s ear.

Mrs. Harris hastily wiped the tears from Emma’s cheeks. "Miss Emma, go quickly, don’t upset the master."

Yes, wasn’t her role here to please him day by day?

Emma moved towards Damien, each step feeling like a march towards the grim reaper, uncertain of the new torments that awaited her.

The gloominess outside the window complemented the darkness in Damien’s eyes – chilling, foreboding.

He lounged on the sofa, his gaze downcast and weary, his slender, immaculate fingers resting on his temple, a figure of elegance and finesse like a figure from a fine painting.

As Emma passed by Damien, unexpectedly, he pulled her onto his lap, drawing her into his embrace.

This man was always so sudden.

Damien Sterling’s long arm curved around Emma Hart’s waist, positioning her perfectly on his lap, preventing her from leaning back.

His deep, eyes opened, fixing an intense gaze on Emma.

Even with the tears wiped away, traces of sorrow lingered on her cheeks, and her clear eyes brimmed with a few lingering tears, evoking an aura of vulnerability.

Damien’s fingers traced her face, their icy touch gliding over her contours.

As his lips drew near, Emma instinctively recoiled, her shoulders tensing up in a reflexive shield.

Damien suddenly spoke, "If I were to grant you one wish, what would you choose?"

Caught off guard by his question, Emma was wary of any traps Damien might be setting.

Yet, if she truly had to express her deepest desire, her answer was unequivocal.

"Let me go!" she stated resolutely, her gaze locked on Damien, negotiating as if it were a real possibility.

Damien’s wandering hand paused on her face, his intense stare scrutinizing Emma’s earnest expression, finding no trace of deceit.

How many women had strived to be associated with him, viewing a child as a golden ticket into a life of opulence?

Yet, all these opportunities presented to Emma, and her sole request was for liberation.

If she so desperately wanted to leave, why entangle herself with him and bear his child?

What exactly did this woman want?

Or was it that even Damien Sterling, accustomed to unraveling the most intricate of plots, couldn’t decipher this woman’s intentions? Could she be harboring a grander scheme?

A flicker of mischief sparked in Damien’s eyes, his face breaking into a sardonic smile, "Wishful thinking."

Mrs. Harris’s voice echoed from the kitchen, calling for dinner, prompting Damien to release Emma.

As he stood up, he whispered ambiguously into Emma’s ear, "What kind of man out there keeps causing you such distress and tears?"

Damien Sterling decisively strode away, leaving Emma Hart staring at his retreating figure, doubting if the words spoken were indeed his.

"At any place special today?" Damien casually inquired at the dinner table.

Emma’s grip on her utensils trembled slightly, her nervousness masked by a feigned calm. "Just like yesterday."

"Met anyone?"

There was something about Damien’s question that felt probing. Was he testing her?

But what if it was just a casual inquiry? Emma gently bit her lip, veiling her lies. "I didn’t meet anyone. I’ve been punctual for lunch, just as you instructed."

Damien’s inscrutable eyes didn’t reveal any emotion, as tranquil as a still pond.

"Okay."

But Emma was unaware that Damien’s mind was flooded with the images of her and Ethan Turner, face to face. Had she conveniently blocked out those moments?

After dinner, Emma quickly retreated to her room, hoping distance from Damien might conceal her slip-ups.

She was inexplicably uneasy that night.

Hiding in her room, she didn’t dare lock the door. It would be futile in Damien’s villa – he could go wherever he wished, without her consent.

The sound of his footsteps ascending the staircase grew louder...

Emma gazed at the neatly draped white curtains, the orderly desk, even the walls exuded a peaceful aura.

The quieter the room, the clearer the footsteps from outside became.

Emma Hart felt an ominous quiet, like the calm before a storm.

The mechanical sound of the door opening grew louder, and she watched intently as Damien Sterling’s tall figure appeared at the doorway, holding a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

What was his intention? To share a drink with her?

Damien entered the room nonchalantly, placing the wine bottle down and began to speak, "I’ve consulted with the doctor. You can drink. And this wine, imported from a French vineyard, is one of only three bottles produced annually. It’s utterly harmless to your health."

Was he really proposing a drink? Emma knew her tolerance was low.

"I’d rather not."

"Not drinking? Are you afraid I’ll get drunk, or are you afraid you will?" Damien inquired, his gaze fixed on Emma, who was retreating to the bed’s headboard, his tone laced with curiosity.

He spoke while pouring the wine into a decanter, the rich crimson liquid flowing smoothly. His actions suggested this wasn’t intended to be a simple, casual drink.

Emma observed the wicked smile on his face. Did he even need to get drunk to act on his whims?

"Both."

"Oh? Afraid of speaking the truth after a few drinks, or afraid of my behavior once I’m drunk?" Damien’s turn and devilishly charming smile sparked endless speculations.

He picked up the glasses, filled them both, and it seemed Emma had no escape.

"Come here," he said softly, his voice seductive and magnetic, pulling at Emma’s very soul.