Chapter 2: Night in the Butcher’s Bedroom

Mmm…

Caleb Parker lets out a low, muffled groan.

The sound hangs heavy in the tiny bedroom—one of those old, creaky upstairs rooms above the butcher shop. A fresh red welt appears instantly on his strong, pale chest, crossing over the marks left from when I grabbed and squeezed his shoulders and back earlier.

He narrows his eyes, veins standing out on his neck, jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his jaw twitch, and his lips press into a stubborn line.

His chest rises and falls, sweat beading on his skin. The window is cracked for air, but all I can smell is the metallic tang of sweat and aftershave, leftover from when I forced him to scrub up.

The subtitles explode:

[The supporting character really doesn’t want to live—just wait to be torn apart by the male lead later!]

[So heartbreaking! The cold, untouchable governor’s son—so many people’s dream guy—is being humiliated like this by the supporting character…]

[The governor’s son’s look after being hit is off, he must hate the supporting character to death!]

Caleb lowers his head, his expression unreadable.

Hate me?

Is that why he goes so hard at night, like he wants to break me?

My whole body feels numb and weak.

Annoyed, I lift my leg and press my foot to his chest. My toe slides up, brushing over his long neck and the collar, lifting his chin with the arch of my foot.

The mattress creaks as I shift, the old box spring sagging beneath my weight. I keep my voice flat, but my pulse is thumping in my throat. The collar's buckle glints in the lamplight, digging into his skin.

Caleb has no choice but to look up.

His face is like carved marble, his brows and eyes sharp and cold—a pair of deep, dark eyes fixed quietly on me.

His back is as straight as a pine tree in the moonlight.

I’ve always hated that stubborn look in his eyes.

It’s the kind of look that would get a guy jumped in a back alley behind Lou’s Tavern. In the past, it only made me want to push him further.

Today, I can’t hold back either.

I deliberately rub his handsome face with my foot and rasp, "If I say I’ll hit you, I’ll hit you. You still want to act tough?"

Caleb’s Adam’s apple bobs. Suddenly, he grabs my ankle—his grip iron-strong, his palm hot and unyielding.

For a split second, I almost flinch. The heat of his hand sears my skin, and a pulse of electricity travels up my calf. Startled, I kick him in the chest. "Who said you could touch me?"

He refuses to let go, his long fingers caressing my pale ankle, and even lets out a low, mocking laugh.

His laugh is sharp, almost bitter, echoing around the cramped room like a dare. "Last night, it was you, boss, who begged this... pet to touch you."

Furious, I raise my hand and slap him.

"Let’s see you talk trash again."

After a whole night of exhaustion, I barely have the strength to turn his face aside with the slap.

The sound rings out, sharp as a cleaver on bone. His skin is so pale that a red mark slowly blooms on his cheek. He pushes at the spot with his tongue, then slowly turns his face back, his eyes sharpening as they meet mine.

His broad chest rises and falls violently, and the flush spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

He must be furious.

I grab the leash attached to his collar, yanking him closer. Chin raised, I look down at him.

The leash rattles against the floorboards, my breath short and sharp. I lean over, letting the shadows from the lamp fall across both our faces, as if daring him to try something.

"Forgot how I taught you?"

His dark eyes are bottomless, locked on me, his grip on my ankle tightening.

His Adam’s apple moves again. After a long silence, he grits his teeth, his voice hoarse:

"Pet... thanks boss for the reward."

I snort, patting his cheek as if taming a wild colt.

"That’s better."

For a moment, I hold his gaze, my hand lingering on his face as if daring him to break. After venting my anger, I finally feel a chill.

Looking down, I realize the blanket bunched at my chest has long since slipped away, revealing mottled red marks and soft curves.

Blood rushes to my face. My whole body burns.

I wrap my arms around my chest, both angry and embarrassed, and give Caleb another slap.

"Don’t look! If you keep staring, I’ll poke your eyes out!"

Caleb presses his lips together, silent, but his gaze only grows sharper as he lowers his eyes.

He’s never been one for words. I used to think his silence meant nothing. But now, with those damn subtitles screaming at me, I finally get it—he really does hate me. And somehow, that stings more than any whip.