Armand Bernie was a wire of tension. As Dolores Flores’ personal spokesperson, Theresa Gordon was essentially protected by the Flores family. How was he going to explain finding himself in her bed?

"Stop crying, please," Armand murmured, reaching out to comfort her. But the moment his hand brushed her shoulder, she recoiled as if burned.

"Get away from me! I don’t want to see your face!" Theresa’s voice cracked with a mixture of rage and grief. "You’re disgusting!"

She couldn't stop the tremors wracking her body. Every memory of the previous night made her stomach churn with a visceral nausea. Armand’s expression darkened briefly, but he suppressed his irritation. As a man, he knew he hadn't exactly "lost" anything in this exchange.

Moreover, while he was experienced, this had been Theresa’s first time. In a state of wine-induced delirium, she had lost the one thing she valued most. He decided to swallow his pride and endure her shouting.

"She's right outside," Armand whispered, staring at the door. "She just knocked. We need to solve the urgent problem before she comes back."

Theresa’s sobbing hit a jagged halt. She looked up, her eyes rimmed with a raw, painful crimson. "What then? What do we do?"

The shame was a suffocating weight. She snatched the duvet, wrapping it around herself like a shroud. She couldn't face Dolores—not like this.

"Stay calm," Armand urged. "What if... we just pretend to be in a relationship?"

It was a strategic move. A relationship made the night an act of intimacy; a one-night stand made it a scandal. If they were a couple, sleeping together was natural. It would strip away the humiliation.

"No way!" Theresa threw a pillow at him with all her strength. "How could this have happened if you hadn't insisted I keep drinking? You—"

Armand caught the pillow mid-air and lunged forward, covering her lips with his hand. "Keep your voice down! Do you want the whole hallway to know we slept together?"

Theresa’s eyes went wide. She shook her head frantically. No, she definitely didn't want that.

"We just pretend," Armand coaxed, seeing her resolve waver. "After a few weeks, we’ll just say we weren't compatible and break up. No drama, no shame. What do you think?"

He was counting on her desperation to hide the truth. He needed to fool Dolores, and this was the only way. Theresa hesitated, her mind racing through the consequences, but she didn't say yes yet.

Armand let out a long, theatrical sigh, acting as though his patience had reached its limit. "Fine. As a man, a one-night stand is no big deal to me. I’ll just open the door and tell them we got drunk and ended up in bed together."

He reached for the door handle.

"Wait!" Theresa gasped. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Between the two evils, pretending to be his girlfriend was infinitely more bearable than the public shame of a drunken hookup. "I’ll do it. We'll pretend to be a couple."

Armand smirked inwardly. He opened the door, but the hallway was empty. Dolores had already retreated to her own room.

Dolores had realized her mistake the moment the door didn't open. Regardless of what was happening inside, she shouldn't have been so impulsive. She didn't want to force them into a corner where they couldn't face her.

"Ms. Flores!" Armand called out, sticking his head into the hall.

Dolores turned.

"I have something to tell you at breakfast," he said, his voice regaining its usual cool composure.

Dolores simply nodded and slipped into her own room. She had intended to go for a walk, but her mood was gone, replaced by a nagging curiosity. Was he going to admit what happened?

Inside her room, the curtains were drawn, leaving the space in a soft gloom. Dolores sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. Theresa wasn't a frivolous girl; they had only known Armand for a short time. How could things have moved so fast?

"Care to share what’s on your mind?"

Matthew Nelson’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble. He had watched her sit there blankly since she returned. He rolled over, his arm snaking around her slim waist, gently pulling her back into the warmth of the bed.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. "Why are you up so early, Lola?"

"How would you describe Armand?" Dolores asked, her mind still on the closed door across the hall. Theresa had no family here; she had followed Dolores back to China from overseas. Dolores felt a heavy responsibility for her.

Matthew raised his head, his long lashes fluttering as he processed the question. "Why are you asking about him?"

"I saw him coming out of Theresa’s room," Dolores said, turning to face him.

Matthew blinked. It took a few seconds for the implication to sink in. Armand and Theresa?

"..." Matthew was speechless. That man moves fast, he thought.

"I’m serious, Matthew. Theresa has no one else here. I have to be accountable. Is Armand a reliable man?"

"He... he’s decent enough." Matthew rolled over, turning his back to her. He was trapped between loyalty to his friend and honesty with his wife.

Dolores sensed the evasion immediately. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at her. "Be honest with me."

Matthew groaned, pulling her closer until she was flush against him. "Lola, I'm a normal man. I’m lying here next to my wife and I can barely stand the distance... when are you going to let me back in?"

"I am talking to you about a serious matter. If you keep deflecting, I'm going to get angry," she said, her hand pressing against his face to keep him at a distance.

Matthew stared at the ceiling, feeling like the most pathetic man in J City. "Fine, fine... don't go to Boyce Shawn. I'll tell you."

He sighed, realizing pleasing his wife was more important than protecting Armand’s secrets. "He had a first love years ago. It ended badly and hit him hard. He hasn't been serious about a woman since. If he did this... maybe he’s actually serious this time. Otherwise..."

He gave her a knowing look, then took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her tightly. "Unlike him, I’ve never even been in a relationship before you. I didn't have the time, and I didn't have the feeling."

His voice dropped, becoming thick with a sudden, heavy lust. "Lola... you owe me."

His muscles were tensed, the morning light highlighting the frustration in his eyes. Men are naturally sensitive in the morning, and with Dolores so close, the torture was nearly unbearable.

"Lola," he whispered, his breathing deepening.

"I don't particularly like men who spend their entire day thinking about sex," Dolores said, her voice cool and discouraging.

"..."

The fire in Matthew’s eyes was instantly extinguished. It was as if she had dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

"Sooner or later, you’re going to be the death of me," Matthew muttered, turning back to stare at the ceiling.

He didn't know why he was so obsessed with her, or why his usual charms failed so miserably. She wasn't a woman who could be easily coaxed—and that, he realized with a pang of annoyance, was exactly why he couldn't let her go.