Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 184

The man finally released his grip on the back of her neck. It was only after he gathered her into his arms and laid her gently on the bed that Madeline could no longer hold back her violent coughing fit.

She gasped for air, coughing so hard that tears streamed down her face and her entire body shook.

Through the agonizing coughs, she managed to choke out, "I'm fine... aren't we going to continue?"

"Get some rest," Quentin said. "You're still recovering."

He stood up and walked away.

The crystal chandelier clicked on, bathing her face in a pristine, bright light.

After leaving to take a cold shower to wash away the intoxicating heat of the dark, Quentin returned with his usual aloof, aristocratic composure. He walked over to her side of the bed, crouched down, and studied the red finger marks lingering on her neck.

He only had a hazy recollection of hating the feeling of powerlessness, which was why he had gripped her so fiercely.

Madeline studied him back, suddenly realizing she had accidentally bitten Quentin's lip.

She was utterly shocked by her own brazen behavior.

But she had no other choice. Liliana was trying to steal her identity to marry Lucius, Eleanor wielded terrifying power and clearly despised her, and Lucius refused to leave her alone.

Madeline desperately needed a powerful protector, and fast.

Otherwise, Liliana would destroy her, and Lucius would trap her in a living nightmare.

She had figured it out moments ago. She no longer resented Quentin for demanding marriage; if she could use that proposal to bind herself to him, it would be immensely advantageous for her.

Her aggressive advance tonight was purely born out of insecurity. She needed to test the waters to see if there was any chance they could develop real chemistry between them.

In all their previous interactions, Madeline had felt he was somewhat like the father she never knew—offering her stable protection and care.

He had given her an estate, a private jet, and an entire team of caregivers.

He had endlessly supplied her with everything she could ever need, handing the world to her on a silver platter.

But just now, in a shocking twist, the man had demanded something in return. He had claimed her with a bone-deep hunger, as though he wanted to strip her bare and completely possess her soul.

Just as she was lost in thought.

His voice broke the silence. His fingers gently wiped away a stray tear, before carefully sweeping the messy strands of hair from her temples and tucking them neatly behind her ear.

Then, his voice dropped to a deceptively soothing, lethal purr. "Did the old crone hurt you, or was it the Whitman bastard?"