Chapter 9 Tea Pot

Mila's POV

Half of me was scared, and the other half was confused, but the look in his eyes made it clear-he would accept nothing but the truth. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Miss Grace Milton. She was our guardian at the children's home," I admitted.

He kissed my forehead, gather me in his embrace. I do not know if it was to comfort me or contain his own fury, it kind of felt both. I so desperately wanted to bask in his warmth but I held it in. I can not be so easily be vulnerable. After a moment or two, he walked out of the bathroom, leaving my head spinning.

I tried to steady my racing heart and followed him, but he was nowhere in the room. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air. A chill washed over me. What have I gotten myself into?

Killian didn't reappear for the rest of the day. Later, Kate apologized, saying he wouldn't be joining us for dinner but assured us he'd be there to see us off in the morning. I kept replaying every moment since I met him, trying to piece together his intentions. If he was trying to lure me into something, his fury over my scar made no sense.

Without Killian, dinner was... lively. Everyone seemed more at ease. Even Kate's smile felt more relaxed, and she made a joke-something I'd never seen her do before. I just wished Adeline had a sense of humor. Watching Kate felt odd. From what I'd heard from K and Killian's actions, something didn't add up.

Come to think of it, I never sensed any intimacy between them. Kate kept a respectful distance from him. It all pointed to a fake marriage. But why would a Mafia boss need a fake marriage? As I glanced around the dinner table, the questions swirling in my head made Killian's absence feel even heavier-almost like it had a presence of its own. I hadn't had time to call K for more information, and the unease in my stomach wouldn't let up. When dinner ended and I tried to excuse myself, Kate announced she had something to show us.

"Something fun for our last night here," she said, her smile unusually vibrant. Everyone looked curious as she told us to meet in the living room in ten minutes.

"Ten minutes-it'll be a unique experience," she added, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. She looked different, but that only made me more wary.

I had no choice but to humor her. When we finally reached the living room...

"What the hell is this?" Nicolai exclaimed, his voice mirroring my thoughts.

The living room had been transformed. "Nicolai, behave," Adeline scolded.

Franny looked just as confused, and Father wore a strange expression, somewhere between polite interest and discomfort.

The room was dimly lit, glowing softly with lantern light. Kate stood behind a low wooden table adorned with a silk runner and plum blossoms. At its center sat an antique Yixing teapot. Her qipao shimmered with a blend of modern elegance and Ming Dynasty inspiration. You had to admit-she'd put in a lot of effort, and she looked beautiful. Almost like she was having fun.

She bowed slightly.

"Tonight, we step into the Ming Dynasty, a time when tea was both art and philosophy."

With graceful hands, she poured hot water into the teapot, steam curling in the air.

"This teapot, over 400 years old, was crafted from Yixing clay, prized for enhancing the flavor of tea." Ah, now it made sense. The teapot must have been smuggled, stolen, or acquired through other illegal means.

I'd read about Yixing teapots in Art History class during an artifact lesson. In the Ming Dynasty, brewing tea was a ritual and a symbol of status. These days, it was often referred to as a tea ceremony.

Kate continued, rinsing the tea leaves and pouring again.

"The Ming tradition was meditative-each step a moment of reflection. Scholars brewed tea while reciting poetry, blending wisdom with ritual."

The golden liquid filled small porcelain cups, its fragrance delicate and sweet.

"Dragon Well tea, a favorite of the era, embodies harmony and serenity. Sip and imagine a scholar's garden-bamboo swaying, streams murmuring. This is the legacy of Ming tea culture."

It was all very impressive, but no one in the room seemed particularly excited. Still, everyone politely picked up their cups.

"It tastes weird," Franny whispered, leaning toward me.

"Just drink it," I replied quietly.

Let's get this over with. It was a unique experience-unnecessary, but unique.

When it was over, everyone began excusing themselves, citing sleepiness or an urgent desire to retreat.

Tomorrow, I will return to my life. I had more pressing concerns than a Mafia boss who could commit murder as effortlessly as he kissed. But sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned, an unsettling feeling nagging at the back of my mind. At 1:15 a.m., I glanced at the clock. Was he back yet? I reached for the water jug, only to find it empty.

Groaning internally, I threw off the blanket and headed downstairs to the kitchen. As I grabbed a bottle from the fridge, I froze and the water bottle slipped from my hand as strong arms circled my waist, pulling me against a firm chest.

The scent of cinnamon and warmth enveloped me, dizzying and intoxicating. My heart pounded, each beat a thunderclap in my ears.

"You kept me waiting, darling." His deep, gravelly voice sent shivers down my spine. My body stiffened as I tried to process the situation. I should move.

I can't let this happen. But before I could gather my thoughts, his fingers lightly grazed the sliver of skin exposed by my camisole.

A ripple of warmth and pleasure surged through me, and my breath hitched involuntarily.

"Killian," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Hm," he hummed against my ear, his deep tone vibrating through my entire body.

His hand trailed upwards, his fingers ghosting along my neck. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, and my n*ppl*s tightened in response to his touch.

I bit my lip, trying to find the strength to say something-anything to stop this. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body betrayed me, craving his closeness.

"You're married," I blurted out, clinging to the only excuse I could think of.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. "Oh, how I wish I could explain this to you." His lips brushed down my neck, trailing to my shoulder. I shivered, heat pooling low in my belly as his touch became more possessive.

"My whole being craves you, Mila," he murmured. "And I don't care." His voice was raw, filled with an aching intensity that left me breathless.

My mind scrambled for control, for logic, but the feel of his lips and hands against my skin made it impossible to think clearly.

"So, my sweet Mila, I'll give you one chance. Think carefully. If you say yes, I won't stop."

My heart thundered in my chest as his hand slid lower, brushing against the waistband of my shorts. Every nerve in my body was on fire, caught between the dangerous allure of his touch and the lingering voice of reason in the back of my mind.

"This is wrong," I stammered, my voice barely audible.

"Anyone could walk in."

"I don't care who walks in." His voice was firm, unyielding.

"I. Won't. Stop."

The commanding edge in his tone, paired with the dangerous possibility of being caught, made my resolve falter. His fingers slipped just beneath the waistband of my shorts, and my abdominal muscles clenched in anticipation. His lips brushed against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "One chance, darling. Tell me-do you want me?"

My head swam, torn between desire and logic. My lips parted, and before I could stop myself, the answer spilled out. "Killian," I moaned, his name a plea and a surrender all at once.

"Yes or no, Mila," he demanded, his voice rough with need.

"Yes."