ROSE Suddenly, Rum stiffened. Then, he whispered in my ear, “Bite if it hurts.” Hugging my shoulders, he nudged my face onto his shoulder and kept it there…. Huh? I pressed my nose into his warm skin. … and then he thrust forward with great strength. And something inside me snapped with the sharp pain of a thousand needles jabbing into me at the same time, sinking my teeth into his shoulder. Tears squeezed through the corner of my eyes and a sob slipped from me. SHIT, THAT HURTS! For a seemingly long while, he didn’t move, as though he was letting the pain subside—or perhaps, letting me adjust to his sheer size. But I wanted him to do something. Move. Anything. “Rum…,” I sniffed. He kissed my earlobe. “How’s this?” Carefully, he slid in further—. The rubbing against the walls inside me and stretching them—surprisingly—sent an electrifying bliss up my spine, arching my body against his, grinding my breasts on his muscular chest. A moan slipped through my lips—a so

RUM "Cintilar?" The reporter wrinkled her nose as though she heard something disgusting. She kept a polite smile to hide her honest opinion. “Never heard of him.” “Her.” I returned an even smile. “Cintilar, Rose is a girl. And I’m glad you don’t know her.” You’d probably fall in line to mess her up—just as Annie and her gang did. And me. Fuck… That feeling returned. The feeling that I wasn’t good enough for anything. I had messed up a werewolf’s life, and I didn’t learn my lesson at all. “Mr. Rum?” The reporter flashed her white pearlies, her brows knitting with concern. “Hmm?” “I asked if you have a type.” I scoffed inside. Outside, I was giving my best smile—the one I reserved for the papzz. “Everyone has a type, don’t they?” What kind of a question is that? Isn’t this an interview for the people attending the style awards? Aren’t we supposed to be talking about style and fashion? She rested her chin on her palm and spread her lips into a sultry smile. “Of course,

*WARNING: This chapter contains imagery and description that may cause distress. ROSE A sense of justice overcame me. “But he’s a werewolf! Werewolves have super healing abilities right?” “Scars and wounds heal, Rose. Not missing limbs… or eyes.” He turned further away, his back facing mine, then he added, “One of the branches caught his eye during the fall and… you can imagine the rest.” “So he… lost an eye?” I couldn’t believe my ears. A chill streak shot up my spine. I jerked up a hand to cover my eye. How does it feel… to have a part of you stabbed… and then torn from you like it didn’t matter? I can imagine the excruciating pain. But do werewolves feel the same? Do they feel the pain even though they heal faster than us? I stared at the strong back crouching in remorse. And then, all of a sudden, my parents’ car crash slammed into my mind. When the car flew off its rail, were Mum and Dad petrified? Did they know that the end was near and gave up? Or did they try to es

ROSE “Rum…? Err, we’re not done yet,” squealed the flustered assistant producer. “Sorry, Grace. I need a three,” Rum replied solemnly as he rushed past the lady who smiled back sheepishly. "Three minutes!" Someone shouted in the background as I continued to be tugged forward. When we were out of earshot, I tried to wrench myself out of that stinging grasp. “Let go of me!” I hissed. “Oh, now you’re whispering? You’re finally aware that everyone’s looking?” he muttered sarcastically. The second we entered the dressing room, Rum slammed the door shut, locked it and caged me against the wall with his hands on each side of my head and his angry face in mine. "I don't care what the fuck is your problem…." Those blue eyes held my gaze. "But you better get your shit together. You got a problem working for me, then FUCKING LEAVE." I stared at him. Fear was slowly seeping from his glare into my veins. So he brought me here to cool off. But he made it abundantly clear: he wants no

ROSE The journey up to Rum’s penthouse was filled with silence until the gentle ping of notification that the elevator would soon open. But when the doors slid open, Rum didn’t dash out as usual. Instead, he remained leaning against the rear wall of the transporting box. I didn’t move either. I felt too tired to lift a muscle. So the doors stayed open. Jokes aside, I’m still crossed with Rum. But then, I’m also feeling guilty for throwing my temper at him and judging him for simply doing his best living in our world. On top of all that, right now, I feel scared. What if Rum found out that I’ve fallen in love with him? Disappointment. He’d be disappointed with me. And I don’t want that. I want him to think the best of me. I have to hide all these feelings I have for him. Maybe I should act like I don’t care. The doors slid to a close, jarring me back to the elevator, and I realised we’re both still inside. Finally, Rum stepped forward to press a button and the doors halte