In the middle of the night, there was no light in the room. Only the city neon lights were reflected in a corner of the window.

When Benedict Macklin returned home, Beverley Archer was standing in front of the window, swirling the glass of red wine in her hand. Her slightly flushed cheeks complemented her indifferent expression, and her tall figure drew a vague shadow at the corner of the window.

The cold winter wind outside crept in, sending a chill down Benedict's spine as soon as he stepped through the door, and Beverley seemed to sense it behind her.

Upon hearing the sound of the door closing from behind her, she knew he had returned.

She put away the glass of wine in her hand and walked to the entrance in a daze. Then, she took his slippers and gave them to him. He handed her his briefcase, and she carefully put it away.

Despite performing each task with flawless precision, she didn't even glance in his direction, and therefore missed the telltale sign of his thin lips pressed firmly into a tight line.

The faint smell of red wine lingered in the air.

He frowned with displeasure and turned on the lights.

The sudden burst of light was a little blinding, and Beverley had to squint her eyes to adjust. As the glare faded, she felt a twinge of discomfort and only then realized how intimately familiar she was with the house, able to navigate it with ease even in complete darkness.

She paused for a moment and suppressed the bitter feeling in her heart. Then, she turned around, ready to go to bed.

Benedict stared at her until she finished doing everything. He frowned and pulled his tie irritably. Then, he stood three steps away from the bed with a gloomy look in his eyes.

Beverley's eyes were closed, and her right eyelid twitched out of the blue. She imperceptibly frowned when she felt an intense gaze above her head.

She felt a sudden wave of unease wash over her, as if some foreboding event was looming on the horizon.

Subconsciously, she rolled over, but her wrist was grabbed without warning, and then a tall body immediately rolled over.

"Mmph..."

He pressed his lips onto hers suddenly. Beverley's eyes widened in surprise and she subconsciously grasped the bedsheet. She was dumbfounded, and her body stiffened.

Benedict narrowed his eyes in response, and a disdainful sneer twisted his handsome features. Without warning, he leaned in closer and bit down on her luscious lips, his actions rough and unexpected.

"Hiss..." Beverley was in pain. She could taste her blood inside her mouth. She widened her eyes and met Benedict's amorous eyes.

Benedict seductively licked the bloodstain on his lips and smirked. There was a ruthless mockery in his curled lips. The slightly dimmed lighting covered half of his face, making him seem like a bloodthirsty devil lurking in the dark.

Beverley's face turned pale as she felt his teeth sink into her tender lips. She stared up at his cold and handsome face, her fingers slowly curling into fists. "Are you finished?" she demanded, her voice shaking slightly. "If you're finished, I want to go to sleep now."

They had never crossed the line in the past two years. However, given Beverly's observant character, she could tell something was amiss with him that night.

Benedict snickered coldly and grazed his rough fingers across the wound on her lips. Beverly stubbornly turned her head away and closed her eyes, enduring the pain.

He could feel the wrist he was holding tremble a little. She was like a beautiful and obedient puppet in his eyes all this while, as she would never refuse his demands, let alone plead with him to show her mercy. It was as if she existed solely for his pleasure, and the realization sent a thrill through his body.

Perhaps it was reverse psychology at play. The more Beverley acted indifferent and distant, the more Benedict felt the urge to tear off her mask of beauty and perfection. He longed to see her raw and vulnerable, to witness the real woman beneath the facade she so meticulously maintained.

Beverley knew what he was thinking, but she gritted her teeth and swallowed back all the noise she was about to make.

Benedict's irritation grew with each passing second, and he reached out to grab Beverley's delicate chin in his large palm. He forced her to look into his piercing eyes as he spoke. 'Mrs. Macklin, it's been two whole months since we last laid eyes on each other. I thought you'd have missed me by now...unless, of course, you've forgotten your identity as Mrs. Macklin altogether? Hmm?'

Beverley was forced to raise her head. She subconsciously swept her gaze across him. Then, she noticed a visible red mark on his white shirt collar.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Beverly's lips trembled, but she curled her lips into a flawless smile. "How is that possible? It's our second anniversary in a few days. I have never forgotten about that."

"How do you want to celebrate that day?"

A trace of gloom flashed across Beverly's eyes. It happened so fast that it was almost impossible for others to notice. She stared into his eyes and said softly, "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, Mr. Macklin."

"Really?" Benedict questioned randomly.

Beverley nodded. Since he did not want to talk further, she also chose to remain silent.

Silence was always the best communication method between them.

The man in front of her was impossible to read. Beverley could never find a way to see through his intentions, and she never once succeeded in understanding what he was thinking.

If she hadn't mentioned it then, she would probably have forgotten about their second wedding anniversary that was coming up. Time had flown by so quickly. It had already been two years since they tied the knot. However, she could count on one hand the number of times he had returned to their "home" in the past two years.

Thinking of that, Beverly could not help tugging her lips a little.

One miserable fact about their marriage was that she loved him, and her love had never been reciprocated.

Thus, when she recalled their wedding two years ago, she felt more misery than joy. Sometimes, Beverley would wonder if she would still choose to marry Benedict if she could turn back time.

Benedict pressed his hands onto the bed, observing all the changes in her expression. Noticing her subconscious movements, he darkened his expression even more, and the smirk on his face also grew colder.

Perhaps even he himself did not realize he would become so agitated because of the minor changes in her expression.

The silence between them lasted for a long time.

Just as Beverley was about to ask if he wanted to take a shower, Benedict suddenly spoke in his hoarse voice, bringing up something completely irrelevant to their situation as he said, "She's coming back in a few days."