Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 131

Chapter 131: Chapter 131: I love you so much
After Winter abruptly ended the call, Eric drank himself into oblivion, eventually passing out at the bar.

But before losing consciousness, he mistakenly called Agnes, thinking it was Winter, and slurred into the phone, asking her to come get him.

Agnes was startled at first, but the slur in his voice told her everything she needed to know. Without wasting a second, she rushed to pick him up.

“Careful, Eric,” she murmured, helping him out of the car and supporting his weight as they made their way to his apartment.

She fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking the door and guiding him inside. Once in, she helped him to the couch and gently pushed him to sit. But the second she turned around, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down with surprising strength.

“Eric—” she gasped as he pinned her beneath him on the couch.

His restless, glazed eyes locked on hers, burning with a fire she hadn’t seen in years. There was lust there—but more than that, desperation.

Without another word, he kissed her—hard, endless, like a man possessed.

Eric had always imagined this moment, though in his fantasies, it had been Winter beneath him. In his drunken haze, the lines blurred. All he could see was the woman he believed he’d lost, the woman he wanted to make his again.

He touched her like he was trying to memorize every inch of her, as if that would make up for the mistake he’d made—the betrayal he now regretted with every fiber of his being.

Clothes fell away. Her soft moans echoed his name, igniting the fire in him, fueling the need to reclaim what he believed was his.

There was no way he could let any other man have Winter. She was his—no matter what.

Yes, he had cheated. Yes, he had broken her. But now, in this fractured, vulnerable moment, he wanted to fix everything. To show her that he could give her the world—if only she’d be patient with him.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, voice trembling as he stared into her eyes. “You have no idea.”

Agnes froze.

She hadn’t heard those words from him in so long. She knew that as much as she loved him, he loved her too. And now that he finally realized, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

Tears welled up as she reached for his face. “I love you too, Eric. Please… never leave me again.”

“Never,” he whispered—and with that promise, he plunged into her, thrusting deep, making love to the woman he believed he’d always dreamed of building a life with.

But little did he know, it wasn’t Winter.

It was Agnes—the one who held him at his lowest, the one who quietly loved him while he chased after someone else—the woman he had entrusted his most vulnerable moment to without even realizing it.

***

The next morning, Eric awoke with a pounding headache, his mouth dry, his thoughts foggy. Groaning, he rolled over, only to freeze the second he realized he wasn’t alone in bed.

His eyes widened in terror as they landed on the woman lying beside him.

Agnes.

She stirred in her sleep, turning to face him with peaceful ease, her bare skin peeking from beneath the sheets. And in that single moment, everything came crashing back.

Last night… he thought it had been Winter.

His breath caught in his throat, heart thudding as memories surged through him—his hands roaming, her moans, the confessions, the heat. Every moment had felt so raw, so intimate. So real.

But it hadn’t been Winter.

It had been Agnes.

Panic surged through him. He sat up abruptly, gripping his head as nausea twisted in his gut. The more he remembered, the worse it got.

He hadn’t used protection.

They hadn’t stopped, not even once. They’d poured every emotion into each other with no filter, no restraint. And now, the truth hit him like a freight train.

He hadn’t made love to the woman he loved.

He’d made love to the woman who loved him—but whom he could never love the same way.

And that thought was as devastating as it was terrifying.

Eric was still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions when he felt a soft hand tracing the outline of his bare back.

“Good morning,” came a sultry whisper behind him.

His eyes snapped to Agnes, now awake and smiling, the light in her eyes soft and satisfied.

Before he could say a word, she rose, letting the sheet fall around her waist. Her bare chest was fully exposed in the harsh clarity of daylight, but she seemed unaffected—confident, almost radiant. With a slow, feline grace, she crawled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his body and pressing her warm skin against his back.

“Last night was…” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear as she rolled her tongue across his earlobe, licking him in a slow, sensual circle. Her breasts pressed against his back, every inch of her body melting into his.

Eric closed his eyes, his breathing uneven.

The sensation of her touch, the heat of her breath, and the echo of her moans from the night before—it all came rushing back. The way she had moved beneath him. The way she whispered his name. The way he had believed—desperately—that she was someone else.

He remembered giving in to the pull of his desires, remembered how she had welcomed him with open arms, knowing exactly how to satisfy the hunger clawing inside him.

But this time, it hadn’t just been about lust.

It had felt… different.

More intimate. More raw.

Because last night, he’d said something he hadn’t meant for her—words that carried the weight of years of regret.

“I love you.”

Was that why it felt different? Because in his drunken haze, he believed he was finally with Winter?

Or was it that he had grown so used to Agnes’s body, her presence, her quiet loyalty, that his subconscious blurred the lines between what he needed… and who he needed it from?

His stomach twisted.

The woman wrapped around him had loved him for so long. But he? He had been chasing a ghost.

And now, as Agnes kissed the back of his neck, humming in contentment, Eric sat paralyzed—caught between the consequences of a night that had felt like a dream… and the reality of a morning he couldn’t take back.

Agnes, still caught in the haze of the night before, began trailing kisses along Eric’s shoulder. Her hands explored the familiar lines of his chest as she pushed herself up and wrapped a leg around him, settling her heat against the hard bulge straining beneath the sheets.

Her lips found his, kissing him with fervor, while her hips began to grind against him, slowly building a delicious friction that made Eric’s breath catch.

His body reacted instinctively—his breathing uneven, hands twitching to grab her waist—but his mind was a chaotic mess.

Agnes knew how to turn him on. She always had. But this time… it felt off.

Because now, the fog of last night was clearing, and with it came the weight of everything she had done. The games she’d played. The way she had worked behind the scenes to keep him from Winter. Her jealousy. Her manipulation.

And worse—David’s threats.

Eric’s jaw clenched as he remembered the price of his position at Greyson. David hadn’t even bothered to hide the power play, dangling his future in front of him like a leash, demanding obedience in the form of a marriage to his daughter.

It wasn’t love.

It was control.

And suddenly, Eric couldn’t take it anymore.

“Agnes, stop,” he said sharply, grabbing her hips to still her movements.

She blinked, startled, her body pausing mid-motion as she looked down at him, confused and breathless. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think we should start again,” he muttered, shifting away from her and breaking their contact entirely.

Her smile faltered. The rejection hit her like ice water.

Eric never pulled away—not from her. Especially not after a night like last night.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice tight, searching his face for an answer.

But Eric avoided her eyes, busying himself as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

“It’s getting late for work,” he said flatly, reaching for his pants and tugging them on.

Agnes sat back, the bedsheet falling around her waist. “Eric…” she started, her tone more cautious now.

He cut her off before she could continue.

“Also… about last night,” he added, not looking at her. “It was intense. I didn’t use protection. I hope you’re still on your pills, because we’re not ready to become parents.”

The words were cold—clinical—and they hung between them like a slap.

Agnes stared at him, her chest rising and falling with restrained fury. He still wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Last night, he had been vocal, passionate—even tender. He’d said he loved her.

And now?

Now he couldn’t even pretend.

The moment he mentioned kids, her eyes darkened. That had always been a sensitive topic between them. She had wanted a future—stability, a family, something that tied them together beyond just sex or convenience.

But now that her career was on the verge of collapse and their engagement was supposed to be the next step… Why would Eric insist on her taking pills?

Why would he even assume she would?

Agnes clenched the sheets around her, a storm swirling behind her eyes as realization began to bloom like a bitter flower in her chest.

Last night might’ve changed everything for her.

But for Eric?

It changed nothing.

But she was sure she would never let him do anything he wanted.