CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER 117: DIDN’T WE BUY IT TO USE IT?

In the evening, the rich and enticing aroma of hotpot soup base filled the apartment in Sovera.

On the table in the dining room, the induction cooker was boiling with a yin and yang pot, one side with bright red spicy oil base, the other with creamy mushroom soup base.

Justin Holden, Jean Ellison, and Jesse sat around the table.

The table was filled with ingredients purchased that afternoon.

Tender beef rolls, crispy tripe, handmade shrimp balls, vibrant green vegetables, pristine white tofu...

An array of colors and flavors, irresistible to the senses.

Jesse, having just been discharged from the hospital, couldn’t eat spicy food, so Jean carefully used a strainer to cook slices of meat and vegetables in the mushroom soup pot, cooling them before placing them in her small bowl.

"Eat slowly, be careful not to burn yourself."

Justin sat across, silently eating, but his actions were unusually meticulous.

He would naturally take the shrimp balls Jean fished out from the hard-to-reach bottom of the spicy pot and place them in her bowl.

When he noticed Jean’s drink was running low, he quietly refilled it with plum juice from the side.

Even when Jesse tried to reach for the napkins, he would hand one over first.

His care was silent yet omnipresent, with a kind of innate attentiveness that contradicted his hard exterior.

Occasionally, when Jean looked up, she would meet his deep gaze, which seemed more unfathomable than usual.

Her heart raced uncontrollably, and she hurriedly lowered her head, pretending to focus on the food.

This meal was exceptionally slow.

Jean seemed to have a lot to keep herself busy with.

Constantly serving Jesse food, frequently adjusting the heat, meticulously preparing dipping sauces...

As if she was deliberately stalling for time.

Justin didn’t urge her, simply eating at her pace, occasionally glancing at her slightly tense profile.

Finally, the last piece of vegetable was eaten.

Jesse rubbed her full, round belly and let out a satisfied burp.

Jean began to clean up the dishes, and Justin stood up to help.

The two of them silently cleared the dining table, placing the dishes into the dishwasher.

Jean coaxed Jesse to wash up, then accompanied her to the children’s room to tell a bedtime story and lulled her to sleep.

Justin, meanwhile, walked to the living room and sat down on the single sofa by the window.

The living room was lit by a single floor lamp, casting a soft amber glow.

Justin’s body sank into the plush sofa, his gaze on the nighttime cityscape outside the window, absentmindedly fiddling with two boxes of orange-flavored condoms he had bought from the supermarket earlier in the afternoon.

The hard plastic packaging turned in his long fingers, making a faint rustling sound.

His face was expressionless, but the slightly furrowed brow betrayed his inner unrest and doubt.

Jean’s series of unusual actions today lingered in his mind like riddles.

After some time, the door to the children’s room was gently pushed open.

Jean came out, a hint of bedtime fatigue on her face.

As she looked up, she saw the man on the sofa, and the small conspicuous box he was toying with in the dim light.

Her heart skipped a beat, her steps subconsciously coming to a halt.

Justin heard the movement, turned his head, his gaze precisely capturing her and the fleeting panic on her face.

He stopped what he was doing, palming the small box, and slowly stood up.

He didn’t speak immediately, just took steps toward her.

His steps were steady, but carried an intangible pressure.

Watching him approach, Jean’s heart pounded wildly, instinctively retreating a step back until her back met the cold wall, leaving her with no escape.

Justin stood in front of her, their proximity so close his tall figure completely enveloped her.

He raised his hand, showing her the box of orange-flavored items, his voice low and tinged with a dangerous rasp, "Bought them...aren’t they meant to be used?"

His gaze was piercing, locking onto hers, "What are you hiding from?"

Jean felt a tingling sensation on her scalp under his gaze, cheeks uncontrollably flushing.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, her voice dry from tension, her prepared excuse ready, "...Not at home."

She paused, trying to make her tone sound natural, even adding a hint of shyness and concern.

"Jesse just fell asleep, she’s a light sleeper. In case she wakes up, it wouldn’t be good to hear anything."

Justin squinted, scrutinizing her, seemingly assessing the truth of her words.

Jean seized the moment of his silence to continue, her speech speeding up slightly as if fearing interruption.

"I’ve... I’ve already booked a hotel, just nearby."

She watched his reaction, cautiously suggesting.

"Why don’t you go first? I need to wait for someone."

"Wait for who?" Justin’s tone instantly turned cold, with obvious wariness and displeasure.

This deliberate arrangement deepened the doubts in his heart.

"I called Vic," Jean quickly explained, her palms sweating, "asked him to come over tonight to help watch Jesse. After all, she just got discharged; I wouldn’t feel safe leaving her alone. Once he’s here, I’ll head to the hotel to meet you."

Justin’s frown deepened.

Vic? The magazine photographer?

He remembered the man, seemingly having a good relationship with Jean.

He looked into Jean’s eyes, which tried to express sincerity, even with a hint of entreaty, as suspicion and an inexplicable agitation tangled in his heart.

Jean noticed his hesitation and mistrust and steeled herself, as if to increase her persuasiveness, proving she wasn’t acting on a spur of the moment or with ulterior motives.

She suddenly turned, retrieving a paper bag from the hallway cabinet.

It was a bag for miscellaneous items, printed with the logo of a well-known intimacy product brand.

From inside, she took out an item.

It was a scantily clad black lingerie with lace trim that shimmered in the dim light.

Black satin and lace stitched together, with metal clasps and sheer inserts.

Justin’s gaze suddenly sharpened.

Jean’s face turned so red it nearly dripped blood, her fingers trembling slightly, yet she braced herself to show him the flimsy garment.

Her voice was low, almost like a whisper, yet carried a kind of determined abandon.

"See, I even prepared outfits."

She hesitated, lifting her eyes, her gaze moist with a deliberately crafted allure and bashfulness, looking at him, adding words capable of dismantling any man’s rationality.

"Tonight... I want to try something different."

As she spoke, she seemingly unintentionally let another item slip from the bag.

It was a black, eye mask-like object.

Justin’s breathing visibly deepened.

He looked at the highly provocative lingerie and the suggestive eye mask, then at Jean’s shy yet bold demeanor, so starkly different from her usual aloof self.

All his suspicions and rationality seemed to be overwhelmed in an instant by a more scorching impulse.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes simmering with dark light.

The apartment was eerily quiet, leaving only the electric hum of their silent standoff and ambiguous tension.

After a long moment, Justin slowly reached out, not for the lingerie, but suddenly gripped Jean’s wrist.

His fingers were scorching, the pressure almost enough to crush her bones.

He gave her a deep look, his gaze so complex it made Jean’s heart race in panic.

Then, he released her hand, turned around, grabbed the jacket and car keys from the sofa, his voice hoarse and tense, "Text me the room number."

With that, he didn’t look at her again, striding towards the door, opening it, leaving.

With a soft "bang", the door closed.

Jean seemed drained of all strength, sliding down against the wall onto the carpet, still clutching the ridiculous and pitiful lingerie in her hand, her heart pounding as if ready to explode.

The plan... the first step, succeeded.