Chapter 8 Do You Like Me?

Adeline was dragged into the elevator and up to a suite on the top floor of the club. The moment the door opened, she was unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. "Adeline, you've got some nerve. Picking fights now, are we?" Christopher's voice was cold, his narrow eyes clouded with unreadable emotions. Adeline sat up, pointing at him angrily. "Look who's talking. Aren't you here looking for women yourself?" Emperor's Club was a well-known entertainment venue in Gillstone City, frequented by the wealthy and powerful. Naturally, such places were never short of beautiful women to accompany them. Christopher chuckled. It was a low sound that sent chills down her spine. He stepped closer, leaning over until one hand was pressed into the soft mattress beside her. His other hand tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "Which eye of yours saw me with another woman?" The proximity was suffocating. Adeline caught the faint, clean scent of wood on him. His open collar, paired with his leaning posture, gave her a clear view of the faint marks on his chest. Marks she had left the night before. She turned her face away, refusing to look at him any longer. The memory of hearing Dorothy's voice over the phone earlier in the day gnawed at her. "Christopher," she muttered, avoiding her gaze. "Do you really like Dorothy?" "No," he replied flatly, his decisiveness catching her off guard. "Then, why are you here?" "Business." He tilted her chin back, forcing her to meet his eyes. A faint smile curved his lips. "Anything else you want to ask?" Adeline stared into his captivating eyes. "If you don't like her, why let her hover around you?" The smile on his face deepened, charming and dangerous. Adeline found herself momentarily dazed. She couldn't deny it. Christopher was the embodiment of her ideal type. From the moment she first met him three years ago, she had fallen for him. It was love at first sight. But she could never admit that to anyone. Liking him was one thing, but wanting to strangle him half the time was another—like right now. Christopher's smile was infuriatingly gorgeous, but his words were as infuriating as ever. "I don't like you either, but I still married you, didn't I?" Furious, Adeline raised her foot, ready to kick him. She wanted to kill him. But Christopher was quicker. He pinned her leg down and held her firmly against the bed. When she swung her hand to hit him, he caught it easily, his grip unrelenting. His height and strength left her completely at his mercy. Aside from her mouth, she couldn't move a muscle. "You really don't know how to act like a human, do you?" She braced herself for his usual antics—biting her lip until it was swollen. But instead, what he did next froze her in place. Christopher's gaze locked onto her right palm, his eyes darkening as they focused on the vivid red streak across it. At some point, her palm had been cut by glass. She hadn't even noticed until now. Maybe she had been too angry to feel the pain earlier. Now, under his burning stare, she became acutely aware of it. His expression was like that of a wolf catching the scent of blood. Instinctively, Adeline tried to pull her hand back, but his grip tightened. The next moment, his lips pressed against her palm, warm and soft. Adeline's breath hitched, her entire body frozen as if someone had cast a spell on her. She could feel it. There was something warm and gentle lightly licking the wound on her palm. Looking down, she saw Christopher's perfectly styled chestnut-colored hair. Her thoughts flickered to something Celeste had told her. Growing up alone overseas, with a strict father and a sick mother, no one had taught him how to express warmth or kindness. Perhaps that was why he was so unpredictable and temperamental. A strange tenderness welled up in Adeline's chest. Almost instinctively, she raised her other hand and gently ruffled his hair. Christopher's body stiffened, and then he swatted her hand away as if burned. Standing up straight, he resumed his lofty demeanor, looking down at her with cold disdain. "Adeline, are you petting me like a dog now?" Adeline blinked innocently, her right hand still seeming to tingle with the lingering warmth of his touch. "Well, you were the one who behaved like a dog first," she said with feigned innocence. She had never seen normal people lick someone's wound. Christopher's face turned icy, his eyes sharp as frost. "I should sew your mouth shut!" Adeline laughed. "Then you won't be able to kiss me." Christopher glared at her. "I'll bite you to death instead!" After speaking, Christopher dialed the hotel's internal line and ordered disinfectant supplies to be brought up. Adeline, still smiling, tilted her head and asked, "Christopher, do you like me?" Without hesitation, he replied, "In your dreams." Her smile didn't falter. She glanced at her palm, which he had just licked moments ago. "You see, I'm alive, and you're alive. What are the odds of that? You must like me, don't you?" Christopher's lips curved into a mocking smirk. "Then should I go die?" Adeline's expression froze. Without a word, she grabbed her high heel and hurled it at him. "Then go ahead and die!" Christopher dodged effortlessly, sidestepping her attack with ease. He turned and headed toward the door, not forgetting to nudge her high heels far away with his foot as he left. Adeline watched his retreating figure, grinding her teeth in frustration. … In the opulent hallway, a group of men in black suits stood flanking the club's manager, Ryan Clarke. The sound of polished leather shoes echoed as Christopher approached. The men in black instinctively stepped aside, clearing a path for him. With one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a cigarette, a faint, unreadable smile played on his lips. The private room door was opened, revealing the aftermath inside. Several men lay groaning in pain, sprawled across the floor. One of them, Mark, was curled up in a pathetic heap, his hands still clutching his groin. Christopher stepped forward, his sharp, hawk-like eyes locking onto Mark. "I hear you know me?" His voice was ice-cold, laced with a chilling menace. Mark's face turned deathly pale, cold sweat pouring down his temples. "Who are you? I don't know you! What do you want? I'm warning you, I have the Lamberts backing me!" Then he turned to Ryan, yelling, "What the hell are you standing there for? Call an ambulance!" Ryan remained unmoved, acting as if he hadn't heard a thing. Christopher's smile lingered, but it only made the atmosphere more sinister. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling circles of gray smoke before suddenly flicking his gaze toward Mark. Without warning, he pressed the lit cigarette into the back of Mark's hand and twisted it with deliberate force. Mark's agonized scream echoed through the room. Christopher stood up straight as his polished leather shoe came down hard on Mark's face, grinding into it as if he was squashing an insect. "Listen closely. I'm Christopher Lambert." At those words, Mark's struggling body froze. His eyes widened in sheer terror, cold sweat dripping like rain. That was Christopher Lambert, CEO of Lambert Group. He was a notorious madman, feared by all in Gillstone City. To cross him was to court death. But no matter how hard Mark tried, he couldn't fathom how he had ended up offending the Lamberts. "Mr. Lambert, should we send them to the hospital?" Ryan asked cautiously. Christopher chuckled lightly. "For injuries this minor? Are they that delicate?" "Understood." Ryan gestured to a nearby waiter. "Close the room door and bring Mr. Curtis and his friends some drinks. Let them enjoy themselves."