Andrew flinched slightly, feeling somewhat annoyed. Sometimes, when a person fabricates a lie, they need countless other lies to cover it up. That statement was indeed true.
He was racking his brains, trying to figure out how to explain why a painting worth millions was hanging in his room when he saw Isabella reach out and touch the canvas, saying casually, “The imitation techniques nowadays are really good; replicas look exactly like the original.”
“…” He was momentarily taken aback, then chuckled softly.
Extending his arm, he gently pulled Isabella into his embrace.
She leaned against his sturdy chest. He lowered his head slightly, his warm breath falling on her snow-white bare neck, causing Isabella’s body to tremble uncontrollably.
At that moment, he truly wanted to mark her. As a possessive werewolf, he believed his self-control was strong enough.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” he softly inquired.
Feeling uncomfortable being held by him, Isabella glanced down and saw his arm around her waist. The cuff of his shirt was rolled up, revealing a section of muscular, well-toned, tanned skin.
Subconsciously swallowing some saliva, she felt an urge to take a bite. She thought his arm must be quite firm and biting into it would give her relief.
“Still haven’t decided?” Seeing her silent, he asked again.
“Can I eat you?” she blurted out.
Andrew was initially stunned; clearly, her words caught him off guard.
Then, came his clear laughter. His firm lips leaned over and directly pressed against her cheek. In a hoarse whisper, he murmured, “Where do you intend to start? Hmm?”
His slightly cool lips moved inch by inch against her cheek, sending a tingling sensation, as if numerous ants were crawling on her skin and finally reached her snow-white neck.
Isabella felt like he could break her skin with his teeth at any moment.
After imagining that, she couldn’t help but shiver, thinking to herself: Who is going to eat whom!
Just as she was about to resist, Andrew’s tongue grazed her neck. Suddenly, his lips left her skin, his eyebrow raised slightly, and his voice turned slightly colder, “Had enough?”
Isabella, looking bewildered, followed his gaze toward the door. She saw a handsome man walking in, wearing a playful smile.
“I don’t know how your ears are so sharp. I just took a step forward and you noticed me,” Ryan said, grinning broadly, his gaze direct as it fell on Isabella.
“Hi, beautiful,” Ryan said, extending his hand and greeting Isabella with a smile.
Blushing red, Isabella almost instinctively pushed away Andrew’s arm around her waist.
Knowing she was easily embarrassed, Andrew naturally released her and calmly introduced, “He’s Ryan.”
“Mr. Ryan, hello,” Isabella politely greeted Ryan. Her beautiful brows furrowed slightly; she felt Ryan’s name was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she had heard it.
“Beauty, I’m your fan. Can you give me an autograph? Sign on my clothes,” Ryan said, walking over with a smile, but before he could approach Isabella, Andrew blocked his way with his arm.
“Is there anything else?” Andrew asked coolly, the warning in his gaze apparent.
“I’m without dinner plans. Mind joining me?” Ryan asked in a flattering manner.
“I do mind,” Andrew rejected outright. He found Ryan too flashy.
“Organize the remaining files. I’ll deal with them when I return,” Andrew said, taking Isabella’s arm and leaving.
“Hey, Andrew, do you have to be so heartless with me?” Ryan’s discontented shout came from behind.
They were already working overtime, and Alpha had to keep an eye on things. Another late night was ahead.
After they left, Ryan approached the wall where the starry night oil painting hung, examining it carefully and attentively for a while, shaking his head in dismay.
He had spent over 80 million getting Christopher White’s oil painting “Above the Stars” from an Italian auction house, so why was it now considered a fake?
…
On the other side, Andrew drove with Isabella on the wide road.
He had heard from Ryan about a new authentic French restaurant and planned to take her there.
Andrew drove while Isabella sat in the passenger seat, feeling drowsy.
His beautiful, slender hands lightly held the steering wheel. He glanced at her and asked, “Tired?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, nodding. “I’ve been shooting for a day and a night. To avoid red eyes on camera, I had to constantly use eye drops. My eyes still hurt now.”
“If it’s too tough, take a break,” he suggested.
If his woman had to work so hard for money, it would make him appear incompetent.
“In our work, it’s like rowing against the current. If you don’t advance, you fall behind,” she said helplessly.
Andrew was about to retort when Isabella’s eyes lit up. It seemed she remembered something and suddenly realized, “I remember who Ryan is now. Olivia said he’s supposedly the Executive Director of the Turner Family Foundation. He helped me with the theme song for ‘Mermaid Princess.'”
“Is that so?” Andrew replied indifferently.
Initially, he had promised to make her dream come true after hearing her play the theme song for ‘Mermaid Princess,’ so he instructed Ryan and Davis to acknowledge her.
However, he couldn’t take credit for this accomplishment.
It seemed that Isabella also recalled Andrew’s promise to make her dream come true, but she hadn’t taken it seriously at the time.
“I don’t know Ryan at all. Did you ask him for help?” Isabella asked, using the word ‘ask.’ Andrew instinctively raised an eyebrow. Few people could make him ask for help, and Ryan wasn’t one of them.
“I mentioned it to him, and I didn’t expect him to take it to heart,” Andrew casually replied.
“Oh, he seems nice then,” Isabella said. However, she immediately wore a serious expression and warned, “I heard from Olivia that his reputation in the circle isn’t great. He’s a playboy and who knows how many girls he’s harmed. Don’t get too close to him, lest he leads you astray.”
Andrew chuckled at her words. “Okay.”
The car parked in front of the French restaurant, and they were lucky to find a parking spot right at the entrance.
The newly renovated restaurant had an elegant and clean environment with a romantic French style. There was piano and violin music. Unfortunately, Isabella was a public figure, so they had to sit in a private booth on the second floor. If she was seen dining with an adult man, it might cause trouble with paparazzi.
She wasn’t afraid of causing trouble, but she dreaded Olivia’s scolding; her ears couldn’t handle the torment.
The booth on the second floor had average decoration but offered a good view. The French windows faced the seaside square, faintly capturing the sunset over the sea.
Andrew took the menu and ordered while occasionally asking for Isabella’s opinion, maintaining a gentlemanly and refined demeanor.