Chapter 175: Chapter 175- Can I kiss you?
Karl chuckled softly, his voice smooth as velvet.
"Your heart is just as beautiful as your face."
Marylin: "..."
Was he trying to tongue-twist her?
A moment ago, she’d teased that her face, covered in a sheet mask, wasn’t beautiful at all. He countered by saying he liked her heart. But now, when she pressed him on what her heart was like, he’d gone in a full circle—claiming it was as beautiful as her face.
So... was she beautiful or not? Was her heart beautiful or not?
Was he just showing off his IQ? Because hers wasn’t low either.
Honestly, she found his way of talking annoying. Especially just now—it sounded too smooth, too glib. Her brows furrowed without her even realizing it. Even with a face mask on, the displeasure showed.
But she didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, she turned to walk back to the sofa.
That’s when Karl reached out, his hand closing gently around her wrist. The teasing smile on his lips faded, and in a rare moment of sincerity, he looked her straight in the eyes.
"What I meant was—no matter what your appearance is like, no matter what’s in your heart, I like you."
He paused, then added, his tone stubborn, almost obsessive,
"Even if it’s bad, I’d still like you."
Marylin froze.
No one had ever confessed to her like this—so hot, so insistent. His words implied that even if she was a bad woman, he would still choose her. Blind? Maybe. But she couldn’t deny—it sounded incredibly moving.
His smile bloomed again across his handsome face, like spring wind in April—soft, irresistible.
"Besides, in my judgment, you are a good woman. Beautiful both inside and out. That makes you even more worth chasing."
Karl’s impression of Marylin wasn’t built on a whim. It came from his instincts, from the information shared by classmates, and from stories told by Laurent and Vivian.
She was beautiful, yes—but not a vase. She was strong, ambitious, hardworking. Her clean break with that scumbag ex proved it all the more—her heart was brave, decisive, and pure.
Marylin felt dizzy from his words, almost swept away. He really didn’t act like a man who’d never been in love before.
And yet, she knew from Laurent that Karl was nothing like his flirtatious older brother, Morrison. Karl had spent years abroad, quietly studying, his reputation spotless. No scandals, no gossip.
Even Tiffany once considered him a suitable match for Lilian. If his character were questionable, Tiffany would never have approved.
For once, Marylin felt grateful for the mask on her face. It hid the emotions threatening to spill. She glanced at him briefly but said nothing, sinking into the sofa instead. Picking up her nail polish set, she began choosing a color.
She didn’t bother avoiding Karl’s gaze. Pulling out bottles of polish, she asked casually,
"Which one looks good?"
Karl sat down beside her, his eyes tracing her delicate, pale fingers. Unbidden, a memory flashed—her hands pressed against his chest the night he stole a kiss while she was drunk. His throat tightened.
"They all look good," he murmured hoarsely.
And he meant it. Even without any polish, her bare hands were already beautiful.
Marylin shot him a glare. That answer was useless. She stopped asking and picked out a trendy Tiffany-gray shade herself. Tonight she planned to wear a smoky-gray dress, and the colors would match perfectly. Settled on her choice, she began painting.
Karl simply sat there, watching her in silence. At first, she didn’t care. But the longer he stared, the more flustered she became. She had hoped he’d be the first to feel awkward and look away—but his skin was thicker than she expected. To her dismay, she was the one who broke first.
Switching to her other hand, she stood to head toward her bedroom. But Karl’s voice stopped her, warm and low.
"Let me paint that one for you. Using your left hand can’t be easy."
Marylin blinked in surprise.
He had noticed? Yes—she’d just painted her left hand with her right, but now she’d need to paint her right with her left. For someone used to doing everything with their dominant hand, it always felt clumsy.
And somehow, he’d seen right through it.
Marylin blinked in disbelief when he offered to paint her nails.
"You? A man? Do you even know how to put on nail polish?"
Karl only smiled.
"No one’s born knowing how, are they?"
Of course, he wasn’t about to miss any chance to get closer to her. Even something he’d never done before—like painting nails—he would take on without hesitation. In his mind, he had watched Linda do it plenty of times while growing up. And as a man who spent years doing meticulous research, precision was second nature to him. This couldn’t be that hard.
Marylin gave a dry little laugh.
"Really? Never done it before? The way you sound makes it seem like you’ve painted plenty of little girls’ nails already."
"Cough—cough—!"
Her teasing made Karl choke. He rushed to explain,
"No, never. Absolutely not."
And then, as if afraid she might doubt him, he added quickly,
"Before you, I’ve never liked any woman. So how could I possibly have painted another’s nails?"
He hesitated, then clarified further, as if desperate to keep his image intact,
"If I had to name the only women close to me, it would be Lilian and my mother. That’s it."
Karl’s expression turned serious, his tone almost solemn. He didn’t want her to mistake him for someone like his brother.
"Yes, I once pretended to date Lilian for a while. We even went on a few outings. But every single time, she did her thing, and I... just read my books."
Marylin: "..."
She’d only meant to tease him. Who would’ve thought he’d seize the moment for a heartfelt confession?
Before she could even roll her eyes, Karl reached over and clasped her hand firmly.
"I think I’ll be good at this kind of delicate work," he said with quiet confidence.
Marylin tried to pull back, but his grip was strong. Her face suddenly grew hot. Why was she blushing? She wasn’t new to relationships, and he was the one pursuing her. Why was her heart racing like this?
Thank goodness for the mask on her face—at least he couldn’t see her expression clearly.
And then, without giving her a chance to resist, Karl began. His strokes were careful, his focus unwavering.
Marylin found herself staring at his face, so close, every line of his profile sharp and perfect. Her heart thumped wildly against her ribs, an erratic rhythm she couldn’t control.
What she didn’t know was that Karl was even more nervous. Her soft hand rested in his palm, and being this near made his breathing quicken, his chest tighten. His heart felt like it would burst out any second. But he forced himself to stay calm, to concentrate on finishing her nails.
The air between them grew thick, charged with something unspoken. Warmth. Tension. Sweet, dangerous intimacy. The scene was almost too perfect, too beautiful.
As soon as he finished, Marylin bolted upright.
"I’m going to change clothes—do my makeup!" she blurted, fleeing toward her bedroom.
But she wasn’t going to get dressed. She just needed space. Air. Anywhere but here—before she drowned in that suffocating tension.
If she’d let him paint both hands, they might not have survived the moment.
Left alone, Karl leaned back against the sofa, releasing a long breath. He raised a hand to wipe the faint sheen of sweat at his temples. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been.
God. The closer he got to her, the more he craved her. The more he touched her, the more he burned to claim her entirely.
Marylin stayed hidden in the bedroom until her nails dried, her makeup was done, and her dress was in place.
When she finally emerged, Karl’s breath caught.
She wore a strapless gown in smoky gray, the skirt flowing softly with layers of gauzy fabric. The muted color, paired with the sheer drape, softened her dazzling features. The sharp beauty of her face was gentled into something refined, intellectual, almost serene.
Marylin had chosen carefully. She knew Karl carried the image of a scholar, while her own looks leaned toward dangerously alluring. If she wore something bold and bright, with heavy makeup, she would overshadow him. That wasn’t what she wanted—not tonight, when she was going as his partner.
So she had opted for smoky gray, a color understated and elegant. Her makeup matched—soft, restrained, blending seamlessly with the dress.
Karl stared, stunned at first, then something deeper flickered in his eyes, dark and unreadable.
The memory of her in that blazing red dress at Laurent’s baby shower hit him in a rush—stunning, dazzling, impossible to ignore. That had been shock.
But this? This was joy.
Joy, because this look told him she had thought of him. She had dressed with him in mind.
The realization left his chest warm.
Marylin, however, shifted under his gaze, flustered.
"Come on. If we get stuck in traffic and arrive late, it won’t look good."
She swept up her long skirt and moved for the door.
But Karl stepped in front of her, his tall frame blocking the way. With one motion, he pulled her into his arms, holding her firmly against him.
"Marylin..." His voice was low, husky, dangerous. His gaze locked on her, steady and burning.
"Can I kiss you?"
She froze. Her lips parted, ready to refuse—
—but he was already lowering his head.
His mouth caught hers in a deep, claiming kiss before she could say a word. His lips pressed hard against hers, and before she could even close her mouth, his tongue swept in, tangling with hers, unstoppable, overwhelming.