Chapter 2

There was no evidence left behind.

Benedict's parents could rage all they wanted, but it wouldn't change a thing.

I sat there, listening to them go on and on about the arranged marriage, when it finally dawned on me what Benedict had said earlier.

How could Benedict say I was the one getting blamed for taking his virginity?

The truth was that he was the one who made the first move.

Benedict and I never got along since we were kids, but one day, I realized I'd fallen for him.

I was too scared to confess, worried he'd laugh at me.

It wasn't until our parents suggested we get married that Benedict agreed right away.

He said, "I don't care who I marry."

I thought he might finally fall for me if we tied the knot, so I agreed.

"If you mind, we can call off the engagement," Benedict's voice snapped me back to reality.

He really didn't care who he married. Even if they swapped out the bride, he wouldn't bat an eye.

I was naive enough to think that he might fall for me after we got married.

"I don't mind," Lexie said, looking like she couldn't care less.

With everyone so chill about it, the swap was decided.

With that, Benedict pulled me along to his place, wasting no time.

He went straight to his room.

"Give me a hand," he said, fishing out the first aid kit.

"What?" I asked.

He lowered his head so I could see the back of his neck.

"My neck hurts. Can you help me with the ointment?" Benedict said.

The back of his neck was flushed red.

I couldn't bring myself to look again, since I was the one who left those marks.

Thinking back to that moment, I felt a fresh wave of irritation.

That morning, Benedict suddenly got all serious and said to me, "Take me with you."

For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

I wondered if Benedict was saying he liked me. But with the way things were between us, he must be joking.

Lexie was back, and I was about to leave.

Was he going to tease me one last time before I left?

I couldn't believe he was joking about this.

Feeling angry and wronged, I pinned him down on the couch and put him in a chokehold to vent my frustration.

Thinking back, it was me going at him, and he didn't fight back, so it wasn't a proper scuffle.

That was when my adoptive parents showed up with Lexie in tow, and Benedict's folks came right after.

The four parents looked at each other, speechless, and decided that if I married Benedict, someone would either end up dead or in the hospital.

So, they were switching the engagement partner.

I stayed silent, and Benedict glanced at me before continuing, "I can't reach the back myself."

Since I did this to him, it was only right that I put the ointment on for him.

I picked up the ointment.

When I caught sight of the huge red mark on the back of his neck again, I let out a sharp gasp.

I didn't go that hard. But it looked so bad.

As I dabbed the ointment on, my fingertips brushed over the warmth of his skin.

I was so tense, keeping my whole body as far from him as possible, stretching out my hand to smear the ointment on his neck.

Suddenly, Benedict turned his head and shot me an annoyed glance across my cheek.

"You're keeping your distance. Can you see what you're doing? What if you mess it up?" he complained.

After saying that, he turned his head away again.

Feeling resigned, I had no choice but to move in closer.

The red streaks against his pale skin were all I could see.

My breath caught in my throat, growing harder to control.

Suddenly, I remembered that night, how he whispered my name gently, his lips on mine.

My hand froze mid-motion.

Benedict suddenly whipped his head around. "Why did you stop?"

His face was suddenly way too close, filling my vision.

We were so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek, and my cheeks were burning.

My hand trembled, and I dropped the ointment. "You do it yourself."

Feeling flustered, I was about to bolt when I suddenly caught sight of his gray pajamas tossed in the hamper.

I froze.

Those were the pajamas he wore that night.

I remembered slowly helping him take them off.

Four years later, and he was still wearing them.

"Do they look familiar?" Benedict asked, his voice casual.

What was he getting at? I felt my blood running cold.

"Why would they look familiar to me?" I forced a smile.

"You keep staring at them. I thought maybe you'd seen them somewhere before," he said, his tone indifferent.

"You're overthinking it. I've never seen them before," I replied, pretending to be calm.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I thought you might have seen them at the mall," he said, suddenly grinning.

So that was all he meant. He thought I saw them at the mall. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

"Nope, never seen anything like that," I said, sounding way more relaxed.

Later that night, I went to grab some water and saw Benedict in the kitchen, still wearing those same pajamas. I found myself checking them out again.

"Still staring, huh?" he suddenly asked.

My hand shook as I gripped the glass, and I quickly looked away.

"Didn't the maid already take your pajamas to wash?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

I was confused, wondering if he deliberately put them back on after they were washed.

Could he have remembered something?

"Do you always wash your pajamas and then wear them again the same day?" I asked.

Benedict's family was loaded. There was no way he'd need to wear the same pajamas over and over.

"It's not the same one," he replied.

I looked over at him, catching him smiling.

"I like this color and style, so I bought a bunch of identical pajamas," he said.

He was so weird.

All that overthinking was for nothing. It turned out he liked them. That was all.

I couldn't help but make a face.

"You got a problem with that?" Benedict asked.

"No," I said, setting the glass down and turning to leave.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist.