The night was as dark as ink, thickly coating every corner of the city, enveloping Krook's villa in an ambiguous yet mysterious atmosphere.
In the bedroom, the dim yellow light flickered as if softly breathing. Beatrice, clad in a pale purple silk nightgown, her smooth hair cascading like a waterfall over her fair shoulders, approached the bed with a gaze full of familiar tenderness and anticipation, her figure graceful and alluring.
But Paul, at that moment, was a tangle of emotions. He tried desperately to mimic Krook's demeanor, yet fear and unease clung to him like a shadow.
Seeing the breathtakingly beautiful and sensual Beatrice, he felt both desire and dread.
He'd seen countless photos of Beatrice in files, along with detailed descriptions.
Now, she was within reach!
Beatrice sat gently on the bed's edge, her fingers unconsciously twirling a strand of hair. Tilting her head slightly, her eyes brimming with love and shy affection, she said softly, "Darling, how come you're back so early today?"
Paul forced a faint smile, replying, "Uh, nothing big at the company today, so I wanted to come home early to be with you."
He kept his voice as steady as possible, but a faint tremor betrayed him.
Beatrice leaned closer, the subtle scent of her perfume wafting to Paul's nose, sending his heart racing.
She gently linked her arm with his, her fingers brushing lightly over his skin as she pouted playfully, "You've been so busy lately, hardly spending any proper time with me."
Paul's body stiffened instinctively. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, terrified that his disguise might unravel in this intimate moment.
He racked his brain, recalling how Krook treated Beatrice from the files, and slowly reached out to touch her hair. But the gesture came off stiff and awkward.
Beatrice didn't seem to notice anything amiss. She nestled into his arms, murmuring softly.
Paul's hand rested on her back, but it felt like touching a blazing flame, making his hand tremble slightly.
He tried to relax, but his inner tension rocked him like a small boat in a storm, impossible to calm.
Beatrice tilted her head up, her gaze hazy as she looked at Paul, her lips slightly pursed in a tantalizing curve.
Paul's heart jolted. He knew what might come next—an even closer encounter—and feared he'd slip up. Hesitating, he slowly lowered his head toward her lips.
Just as their lips were about to meet, Paul shut his eyes, his mind a chaotic mess.
His kiss landed on Beatrice's lips, clumsy and lacking the practiced passion Krook once had.
Beatrice frowned slightly, pushing him back gently. With a hint of confusion in her eyes, she asked, "Darling, you're usually so fierce. Tell me what's going on."
Paul's heart clenched. He scrambled to explain, "I found this medicine—imported from Japan. Of course I'm fiercer now!"
With that, he pulled a bottle from the drawer—Yamamoto's Medicine!
Beatrice took it, examining it closely before studying his face. Her gaze was like a sharp probe, as if trying to pierce through Paul's façade to the secrets within.
She softly caressed his groin, saying gently, "Really? I noticed it's even changed shape!"
Paul forced calm, shaking his head. "It's really effective—transformed me completely down there."
But Beatrice wasn't ready to drop it. She sat up straight, arms crossed, a flicker of thought in her eyes. Suddenly, she said, "Darling, I think this is the best yet!"
Paul froze. How could he know what Krook ordered last time? His mind raced to fabricate an answer.
"Uh… I think it was beef. Didn't you like the old stuff?"
He answered cautiously.
Beatrice shook her head. "No! It wasn't enough!"
Paul's face went pale. He let out a dry laugh. "Oh, maybe I've been too busy lately—my head's a mess."
The doubt in Beatrice's eyes deepened. Abruptly, she asked, "Do you remember the drawing you made for me on the beach during our last vacation?"
Paul felt like he'd fallen into a bottomless abyss. He shook his head in despair.
Beatrice's gaze dimmed instantly. Softly, she said, "You never used to forget these things. What's wrong with you?"
Guilt and fear flooded Paul. He didn't know how to answer. He wanted to tell her the truth but dreaded losing everything he had.
Just then, his phone buzzed. Glancing at it, he saw Townsend's message: "Everything still smooth? Don't slip up!" His hand shook as he flipped the phone over, but Beatrice caught the motion.
"Who's that? So secretive," she asked.
Paul stammered, "Oh, just a client. Nothing important."
Beatrice eyed him, suspicion growing.
Silence fell between them. Paul quickly turned off the bedroom lights, and soon a storm of passion erupted!
Beatrice had been insatiable in the bedroom lately!
…
But in the villa, Paul had nowhere to escape. He was constantly met with questioning stares!
The oppressive atmosphere was driving him to the brink, the women's subtle yet ever-present scrutiny making every minute feel like walking on thin ice.
He knew if this continued, his impersonation of Krook would collapse entirely. Seizing an excuse, he hurried out of the villa, found a secluded spot, and frantically called Townsend.
"Townsend, I can't take it anymore! The women at home are too sharp, and people at the company are getting suspicious. If this keeps up, we're done for!"
Paul's voice trembled with desperation, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his cheeks.
Townsend paused on the other end before snapping irritably, "What's with the panic? I told you to be careful. Look at you—full of holes. Stop freaking out—we need to stabilize this."
Paul pleaded, "Townsend, I don't have the experience! Think of something quick—I'm losing it!"
After a moment's thought, Townsend said slowly, "Fine. Go back, gather them together, and bring up how you've been off lately. Say it's because the company's working on a big project, and the pressure's gotten to you, causing some slip-ups. Be sincere, make some promises—like taking them on a nice trip once it's over—to calm them down. As for the company, I've got some of Krook's old project files. Study them and act professional—don't let anyone spot more flaws."
Paul's confidence wavered, but with no other options, he agreed. "Alright, Townsend, I'll try. Hope it works."
Hanging up, Paul took a deep breath, steadied himself, and headed back to the villa.
Back inside, he found Beatrice, Ava, and Tracy in the living room, the air still heavy. Mustering courage, he approached with a smile. "Babes, I need to talk to you."
Beatrice looked up, her eyes still distant. "What about?"
Paul cleared his throat, adopting a earnest tone. "I know I've been weird lately and worried you. The truth is, the company's prepping a huge project, and the pressure's been insane. I've dropped the ball on a lot, neglected how you feel, and messed up at work. I'm sorry."
He bowed slightly, his demeanor tinged with genuine-seeming remorse.
Ava raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, Paul, just a project? That's a big change. We thought you had other motives."
Paul waved his hands quickly. "No other motives, Ava! You know how I feel about you all. Once this project's done, I'll take you all on an overseas vacation—however you want to play. Forgive me this once?"
Tracy frowned, watching him. "Krook, words aren't enough. You need to actually get it together—we don't want to keep living on edge."
Paul nodded eagerly. "I get it, I do. I'm already working on it. I'll sort out the company stuff soon and get back to my old self. Trust me."
Beatrice softened slightly at his sincerity, sighing. "Alright, darling, we'll trust you this time. Don't let us down again."
Seeing their attitudes ease, Paul exhaled inwardly. He'd bought some time at home—but the company still needed serious effort.