Without a word, he scooped her up and carried her into the room, his expression dark and brooding.

"Yes. Give it to me."

Before entering the room, Mitchel stopped and cast a cold glance at the roses on the tea table.

"Do you like those flowers?"

Raegan recalled that Mitchel had never sent flowers to anyone. Not even once.

Unsure of what to say, Raegan murmured, “It depends.”

As soon as she said those words, she wished she could take them back.

Just as she had expected, Mitchel's expression darkened. Raegan had not intended to annoy him, but she did so mindlessly.

In college, a young man followed her wherever she went and secretly slipped red roses into her books or school bag. For a while, the roses unnerved her and stirred unpleasant memories.

That was the reason why she said that. She did not mean she Liked the flowers because they were from Henley, but Mitchel seemed to get the wrong idea.

In the blink of an eye, Mitchel's mood shifted. Instead of entering the room, he placed Raegan on the tea table and pressed her on the roses.

The cold dew from the petals soaked through her back, making her tremble.

Raegan clutched at his shirt, trying her best not to crush the delicate roses under her weight, but it was futile.

Why here? There was plenty of space in the room.

"Don't do it here," Raegan pleaded.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She was uncomfortable as her back was crushing the bouquet, but her discomfort only fueled Mitchel's desire.

Mitchel lowered his eyes at her and firmly declared, "I want to do it right here."

The crinkling sound of packing paper filled the air. Mitchel stretched out and, suddenly, unwrapped the bouquet of roses under her back.

The bouquet burst open. Some flowers landed on the table, while others scattered across the floor.

Raegan doubted that the tea table would be able to support their weight. Anxious, her heart pounded, threatening to leap out of her chest.