The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 62

Ethan always looked like he’d been sculpted by the gods, but now, with his shirt off, every muscle stood out in sharp relief. His chest and abs—well, their sheer definition made her head spin.

And to make matters worse, his belt was half undone, his trousers riding low on his hips. From his waist down to where his boxers began, there was barely anything left to the imagination.

The warmth Ramona had just managed to cool faded back in with a vengeance, so hot she could barely breathe.

“Ramona, stop staring!”

Ethan could feel her eyes glued to him, lingering over every detail. He shot her a warning, his voice low and sharp, then quickly stood up.

Ramona, flustered and at a loss, scrambled to the opposite side of the bed. “...Mr. Jordon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“My clothes are soaked,” Ethan said, turning away as he fixed his pants and tossed his shirt back over his shoulders. “I was just about to take a shower.”

He tossed out the explanation as an afterthought. She hadn’t meant to stare; he hadn’t meant to strip.

Ramona nodded. “I understand. Really… thank you. For helping me again.”

Even as she thanked him, her mind was a whirlwind, the image of his body refusing to leave her thoughts.

After living such a restrained life for so long, it was only natural to feel desire now and then. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she was still feverish or if the heat was coming from somewhere else entirely.

“Mm.” Ethan’s deep voice was gentle but firm. “Try not to push yourself so hard next time. You only get one body.”

“Okay,” Ramona replied obediently, nodding.

“Take your medicine.”

He didn’t turn around, just issued the command in his usual cool tone.

Ramona saw the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand. She didn’t ask questions, just crawled over and swallowed them down.

Seeing her take the medicine and noticing her color returning, Ethan’s worry eased.

“Mr. Jordon… the scar on your shoulder, what happened?”

Ramona hesitated, but curiosity won out.

She remembered feeling a round scar under her hand earlier, thought it might’ve been a mistake—but now, as he slipped on his shirt, she caught a glimpse of it again.

It wasn’t large, but the wound looked deep—strange for someone like Ethan, who’d grown up with every privilege.

“There was an international conference once. Terrorists attacked. I took a bullet to the left shoulder.”

Ethan’s tone was flat, as if describing the weather.

But those simple words sent a chill through Ramona.

A bullet? He’d been shot? How painful must that have been?

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