Let's Get Married Again, My Unknown Wife

Inside a dimly-lit hotel suite, Alison Conley, panting, raised her head and clung limply to the man on top of her, her fingers digging into his back, leaving a trail of intimate red marks.

Later on, as dawn broke and the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, Alison's eyes fluttered open. Fragments of the previous night returned to her-she had been drugged with some kind of aphrodisiac and ended up sleeping with a drunk man.

His handsome face lingered in her memory, a face she felt she had seen before.

As she was gathering her bearings, the water stopped, and then the bathroom door creaked open.

A tall man stepped out with nothing but a bath towel wrapped low around his waist. Water dripped from the strands of hair on his forehead, trailing down his chiseled torso and meandering into his V-line. In a word, he looked like a seductive Greek god.

Alison propped herself up, wincing as her sore body ached, and stared at the man's perfectly handsome face. Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat.

Shit! How could it be him? No wonder he looked so familiar!

The man before her was none other than her husband, Nicholas Bowman. He had gone abroad two years ago, since the beginning of their marriage.

However, while she clearly recognized Nicholas, he seemed to have no recollection of who she was.

Ironic, indeed.

When Alison was only fifteen, her father had passed away, and soon after, her mother remarried. Then, her half-brother, Samuel Powell, was born, adding another layer to her complicated life.

In the year of her graduation, Alison's life took a turn for the worse. Her stepfather's business hit rock bottom, forcing them to seek help from the influential Bowman family. Geoffrey Bowman, the formidable patriarch, seized the opportunity to bring up the long-forgotten arranged marriage between their families, using it as a condition before offering any financial support.

Alison's stepsister, defiant and headstrong, flat-out refused the arranged marriage and fled, leaving chaos in her wake.

Desperation drove Alison's mother to push her forward, insisting that she would make a good match for Nicholas.

At that time, Geoffrey was gravely ill, and he yearned to see his grandson wed before kicking the bucket. He pulled every string to ensure the marriage happened.

However, the ever stubborn Nicholas despised the idea of a wife being forced upon him. He even sent his assistant, Joshua Fletcher, to handle the marriage registration, avoiding Alison throughout the whole process.

As soon as the marriage became official, Nicholas left for a business venture abroad, leaving Alison with nothing but a promise-that after two years, they would get a divorce.

Two years had passed. Alison had caught wind that Nicholas had returned from abroad, but never expected their first encounter would be in bed.

"You'd better keep your mouth shut." As Nicholas spoke, he gestured at the check on the bedside table.

A check to buy her silence? Alison fumed silently. This man was humiliating her.

On ordinary days, she would catch fleeting glimpses of him on television. He always appeared untouchable, exuding an air of aristocratic elegance, as if the mundane troubles of the world could never reach him.

Two years ago, he had left before even seeing his wife, making Alison the town's laughingstock.

Anger and a flicker of vengeful resolve burned within Alison. Clenching her fists, she suddenly felt determined to shatter his facade and watch him crumble in embarrassment.

Alison rose gracefully from the bed, draping a loose bathrobe around her shoulders. She flipped her hair back with a flourish and let out a playful whistle at Nicholas, calling his attention. Then, she plucked the check from the bedside table and tore it in half, tossing the pieces into the trash can.

This action was undoubtedly a provocation to Nicholas.

Sure enough, Nicholas' expression darkened. His eyes locked onto hers as he asked in a dangerously low voice, "What? Was that amount not enough for you?"

Alison's lips curled into a mocking smirk. "Last night was just a game between adults. No need to try and buy my silence."

She paused, her smile turning seductive. "What's the matter, sir? Can't handle the stakes?"

Nicholas' expression turned even more sinister. With a slight, menacing smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he looked like Satan incarnate, exuding an icy aura that sent shivers down her spine.

Nicholas was notoriously ruthless, and it was no secret that those who crossed him never met a good end.

Despite the fear creeping in, Alison plucked up the courage to step forward, even going so far as to jab a finger at Nicholas' chiseled chest. "To be honest, I was quite satisfied with your performance last night. Are you offering a monthly package? Name your price."

Alison had been nursing a deep-seated grudge all these years, and she wanted more than anything to get back at Nicholas.

Sure enough, when she saw the rage flicker in his eyes, a wave of satisfaction washed over her.

"Do you have a death wish?" Nicholas' voice dropped to a menacing whisper, his expression darkening as an icy chill radiated from him.

In a flash, he seized Alison's wrists and pressed her firmly against the wall.

The sudden movement caused her freshly donned bathrobe to slip off her shoulders, revealing the exquisite curves of her body in an undeniably provocative manner.

Nicholas' heartbeat quickened involuntarily, and he frowned, fighting to maintain his composure.

Standing on tiptoe, Alison leaned in and whispered seductively in his ear, "Did you have a good time last night?"

After all, this man had kept her up for hours, venting his desires.

Nicholas' gaze turned piercingly icy, spurred on by her taunts. He looked like a ferocious predator, ready to devour his prey.

"Keep talking like that, and I'll end you right here, right now," Nicholas growled, shoving her hand away and stumbling back, torn between frustration and desire.

Damn it! No way in hell would he ever admit just how much he had enjoyed their night together. Yet, his body betrayed him, itching for a repeat of their fiery encounter.

Last night, when Alison had thrown herself at him, he hadn't resisted.

He couldn't deny that she was captivating, her skin as smooth as silk, her features an enchanting blend of purity and allure. Her eyes, in particular, glistened with indescribable innocence that drew him in, compelling him against his better judgment.

But that didn't give her the right to provoke him like this.

With deliberate slowness, Alison adjusted her bathrobe, each movement more enticing than the last. She twirled her finger through her hair and pouted in a manner designed to soften even the toughest of men.

"Okay, I see how it is. Let's just call it a night..." Alison trailed off, noticing the subtle changes in his demeanor, a sly smile curling her lips. Inside, she was sneering, relishing the effect she had on him.

However, before she could continue, a ringtone shattered the moment. Nicholas glanced at his phone and answered the call.

Clad in a bathrobe with his collar slightly askew, he exuded a carefree, almost aloof air.

His physique was nothing short of extraordinary; every inch of him screamed raw masculinity.

Alison couldn't help but feast her eyes on him. But then, his voice turned cold and distant, slicing through the air. "Yes, I've made my decision. I promised Grandpa I'd stay married for two years, and now, time's up."

"Stop worrying about it. There's no need for me to meet that girl. I'll have my assistant handle the divorce."

"Humph! That woman has enjoyed the title of Mrs. Bowman for two years now; she has nothing to complain about. In fact, she should've received the divorce agreement by now."

So, as anticipated, Nicholas had returned from abroad just to finalize the divorce. Alison couldn't help but wonder how he would react when he discovered that the woman he had shared a bed with was, in fact, his wife. Just picturing his stunned expression made her smirk triumphantly.

Alison had toyed with the idea of revealing her identity to Nicholas, but with their imminent divorce, she decided against it. It was better this way.

Just then, Nicholas' phone call ended, only for him to immediately receive another, seemingly a work-related call.

His towering figure leaned casually against the balcony railing, more than half of his chest exposed, revealing the alluring sheen of his toned muscles.

The sight was mouthwatering, and Alison licked her lips and indulged in one last admiring glance before gathering her things and turning to leave, reveling in the fact that she had sampled a premium delicacy for free.

A few minutes later, the phone call ended. When Nicholas returned to the room, he found the woman had left. His gaze fell on the bloodstain on the white sheet.

A cold glint appeared in his eyes. This woman was certainly interesting. Was it her first time?

But her attitude was so strange-so brazen and audacious. Could it be that she knew who he was?

Mulling over this possibility, Nicholas rubbed his chin and sneered. Perhaps they would meet again.

After exiting the hotel, Alison didn't leave right away. She was rubbing her aching tummy when her phone suddenly rang. Glancing down, she saw that it was her mother, Amy Powell, calling.

Alison's blood ran cold once she saw her mother's name on her phone screen, putting two and two together.

Someone had drugged her and sent her to Nicholas' bed last night.

Alison lifted her head and let out a weary sigh, her eyes drifting shut as the weight of the betrayal settled on her shoulders. She never imagined her own family would do such a thing to her.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" As soon as the call connected, Amy's voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusing.

Alison's eyes flickered open into narrow slits, her expression icy. "Were you calling to confirm if I'd slept with Nicholas?"

Last night, Alison had attended a lavish banquet at the hotel, mingling with an important client from her law firm.

As the event wound down, she ran into her mother, Amy, who feigned affection and handed her a glass of orange juice, claiming it would help her sober up.

But instead of feeling refreshed, a fiery heat began to course through Alison's veins as soon as she took a sip.

Amy then handed her a room key, urging her to rest upstairs. Trusting her mother's words, Alison stumbled to the room, only to find a man waiting inside. Overwhelmed by the drug's effects, she had no control as she threw herself at him, consumed by unbridled desire.

Amy, unfazed by Alison's accusation, cleared her throat and said calmly, "Nicholas came back just to divorce you. As your mother, it's my duty to plan for your future."

"Sadly, your so-called plan is futile. Nicholas isn't into me. He threw me out the moment I tried to touch him." A mocking smile played on Alison's lips as she spoke.

She would never let her mother know the truth-after all, there was no telling what Amy might do next.

"That can't be..." Amy's disbelief was palpable, confusion laced in her voice.

After a brief pause, she switched tactics and mentioned her husband, Isaac Powell. "Alison, Isaac's company is struggling. Can't you give us a hand? Nicholas is a catch, and countless girls would die to marry him. I'm doing this for your future!"

"For my future, or yours?" Alison laughed incredulously. "I hope you don't end up going back on your words. Mrs. Powell, I thought marrying Nicholas two years ago already settled my father's debt to Mr. Powell."

The implication was clear-she owed them nothing.

Amy's face drained of color. "But what about Isaac? What about Samuel and me? Aren't you worried about us at all?"

It struck Alison suddenly-Amy had married Isaac right after Alison's father passed away, and Samuel was born only seven months later.

Alison still vividly remembered Amy justifying the hasty marriage by claiming she had no better options, and Isaac had kindly stepped in to take care of her.

Yet, something didn't sit right with Alison. She couldn't shake the feeling that the timeline was suspiciously tight, but she chose not to dig deeper.

"Where is the divorce agreement?" Alison suddenly asked, her thoughts jolted back to the present.

"Why, you little-" Amy's anger flared at Alison's stubborn determination. Her voice dropped to a low, stern tone. "I'll give it to you when you come for dinner this weekend."

Alison's expression turned icy, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you really think you can manipulate me, dangling the divorce agreement in front of me like bait?"

She didn't expect that the divorce agreement would be sent to the Powell family, but then again, it made sense since her marriage to Nicholas had been as a Powell.

Alison had just assumed the divorce would proceed smoothly, but she had underestimated Amy's cunning.

As these thoughts whirled around in her mind, her temples throbbed, and her stomach still ached, so she abruptly ended the call.

Realizing her car was still in for repairs, she booked a taxi.

While she was waiting, a particularly difficult client from her law firm, Damien Harding, emerged from the hotel, to her dismay.

"Mr. Harding, what a coincidence!" Alison forced a polite smile.

Damien, heir to Harding Group, had been relentlessly pursuing her despite her best efforts to avoid him.

"Who did you make out with so early in the morning?" Damien narrowed his eyes into slits, his sharp eyes immediately landing the telling red marks on Alison's neck.

"I asked you out on a date, but you refused; now, you're at a hotel with someone else?" Damien's impatience was palpable. A mere word from him, and his bodyguards would whisk Alison away.

Alison straightened her back and said calmly, "Mr. Harding, I'm married. I'm here with my husband. He just went to fetch the car..." As she was lying through her teeth, a Rolls-Royce pulled into the hotel driveway.