When he found his urologist to be his brother’s fiancée – the first beauty in the country, he panicked and tried to escape, only to be gently caressed by her, “You know, your brother is impotent. And you…” With that she bent down, staring at the unusual bulge of his manhood. “You are so sensitive.” Then she swallowed the tip deep, down her throat. *** Ethan Shaw sat in the hospital waiting room, his knuckles tapping lightly against his knee as his gaze remained fixed on the examination room door. He was here for a pre-employment physical. With top grades in his year, he had finally landed a summer internship at a listed company—only to be stalled by a so-called “private examination” at the hospital. “Ethan Shaw.” The door opened, and a voice called out—cool, crisp, and emotionless. He looked up—and froze. Standing at the door was a woman in a white lab coat. Her figure was graceful, her features sharply refined, her skin nearly translucent in its fairness. That face—he knew it too well. Vivian Reed. His brother Ryan’s fiancée. Ryan, the so-called eldest son of the Shaw family, was in fact just the bastard child of their father’s long-time mistress. “Come in,” Vivian said without even glancing at him, her tone all businesslike. Maybe she didn’t recognize him. After all, he’d grown up in boarding schools and only started coming home on weekends since entering college. But he knew her. He knew her so well, it ached. He even kept a hidden photo of her in his drawer. She was, after all, the most beautiful woman in the country. Ethan stiffened and stepped into the exam room, perching awkwardly on the examination bed. Sweat slicked his palms. His entire body was taut—like a live wire. “Take off your pants. I need to perform a peripheral check,” Vivian said calmly as she pulled on a pair of gloves. Ethan’s face flushed deep red. “C-Can I… ask for another doctor?” “Why?” She looked up, her eyes cool and unreadable. “I’m the attending physician. Are you questioning my credentials?” Gritting his teeth, Ethan closed his eyes and complied. As the exam progressed, the air between them grew thick, charged. Her gloved fingers brushed over the sensitive tip of his length—clinical, or intentional? He couldn’t tell. Just as his heart felt ready to burst out of his chest, he heard a soft laugh escape her lips. “So sensitive.” His eyes snapped open—Vivian was staring straight at his aroused shaft, an unreadable glint in her gaze. Admiration? Curiosity? “You—” He moved to cover himself, but she caught his wrist in a swift, practiced motion. “Don’t move,” she murmured. “We’re not done yet.” Then, slowly—deliberately—she peeled off her gloves and reached out with bare hands. One wrapped around his flushed tip. The other fondled the swollen sac below with a practiced touch. “P-Please… stop…” Ethan gasped, already at his limit. But the next second shattered whatever control he had left. Vivian Reed bent down—and took him into her mouth. … Shame and disbelief nearly drove Ethan mad. When the exam finally ended, he scrambled to put on his pants and rushed out of the hospital like he was fleeing a crime scene. His heart pounded like a drum all the way home. But just as he dropped his backpack, he froze. He found something buried inside—a white lace panty, still carrying her familiar scent. He sat dazed on the edge of his bed, mind blank. When he stepped into the shower and looked into the mirror, he caught sight of a faint love bite on his neck. “Shit…” he hissed, biting back a groan as he remembered the way her fingers had brushed over his Adam’s apple. His body burned with heat, a confusing blend of rage, shame… and desire. He knew this was wrong. She was his brother’s fiancée. But those eyes— They had dared him. Mocked him. Vivian Reed, are you out of your mind? After the shower, he stepped out with a towel around his neck—only to hear Ryan’s voice from the living room: “Ethan, I heard you went for a physical today? What’s the matter—something wrong down there? Want me to recommend a urologist?” Ryan lounged on the sofa, legs arrogantly crossed, smirking like a victorious fox. “I’m perfectly fine,” Ethan said coldly. “Tsk, such a temper.” Ryan sneered. “Don’t forget—you’re living and eating off the Shaw family. Or more precisely, off my mom and dad.” Ethan clenched his jaw and said nothing. Ever since his mother died ten years ago, everything had changed. His home was no longer his. His father was no longer his father. That mistress and her bastard son had moved in. His mother’s portrait was taken down. His room was given to Ryan. He was sent to boarding school. And the Shaw Group’s shares? Transferred entirely to Ryan. He was nothing but a living, breathing nobody. “Oh, by the way,”Ryan said lazily, “my fiancée will be at tonight’s dinner. Try not to embarrass yourself.” Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. Images from this morning flashed before his eyes—and his pants tightened again. Does she even know I’m her future brother-in-law?
The night was heavy and still as the gates of the Shaw estate slowly opened. Vivian Reed stood at the entrance, holding a box of tonic supplements in her hand, a perfectly measured smile resting on her lips. It was Ethan who opened the door. Their eyes met—and for a moment, time stopped. The air thickened, as if someone had seized it by the throat. But she only tilted her head slightly, her voice polite and distant. “Hello, may I ask if tonight’s family dinner is being held here?” Her tone was calm, unhurried, as clear and detached as a stranger’s. Ethan’s throat bobbed, his fingers tightening against the doorframe. He gave a low “Mm,” and stepped aside. “Come in.” As she passed by, her fingertips brushed across the back of his hand. It wasn’t accidental—it felt deliberate, as if to drag him back into the chaos of the morning. The dinner had already begun. “Vivian, come sit next to Ryan,” Ethan’s stepmother Karen said warmly, pulling her toward the long table. She sat beside Ryan Shaw, gently serving him food and pouring his wine, smiling with the gentle ease of the perfect fiancée—at least, in the eyes of others. Ethan’s father Victor Shaw watched the loving pair with satisfaction, nodding in approval. Only Ethan sat across from the scene, like an invisible figure in a family portrait. He spaced out and dropped his fork, bending down to pick them up. And then he froze. Beneath the tablecloth, Vivian’s legs were crossed, her skirt had ridden high, and she wasn’t wearing any underlayers. That flash of white nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. Her red-soled heels dangled slowly, teasingly. Ethan’s pupils contracted. His heartbeat erupted in his chest. He stood abruptly, feigning calm. But then, under the table, her foot slid forward—brushing against his knee. He froze. She, however, went on as if nothing had happened, picking up a bite of food and smiling sweetly. “Ryan doesn’t like scallions. I remembered.” Ryan ruffled her hair fondly and chuckled. “Vivian’s always so thoughtful.” The others burst out laughing, teasing them. Ethan, though, felt like he was sitting on needles, his breath catching. Under the table, her foot continued to brush deeper, against his sac—soft, slow, like a snake wrapping itself around its prey. No one else noticed. Vivian turned her head slightly to glance at him, her lips curling into a subtle smile. What the hell is this woman playing at? Just as Ethan clenched his jaw and was about to stand, Victor Shaw raised his wine glass and stood up: “Everyone, since we’re all here tonight, I’d like to share some wonderful news—” The room went quiet. Victor spoke with ceremony: “Vivian and Ryan were promised to each other as children by our two families. Now that they’re of age, it’s time to formalize the union. I’ve decided—next month, at Old Mr. Reed’s birthday banquet—we’ll host their engagement ceremony. A double celebration.” “Wonderful!” Applause broke out. Vivian lowered her gaze, smiled faintly. She neither agreed nor declined. But in that moment, something dimmed in her eyes. Ethan’s heart sank. This engagement had originally been arranged for him by his late mother, Grace Sinclair, before she passed. But after he’d been sent to boarding school, Victor publicly announced that Ryan was the eldest son of the Shaw family—and the future heir to the Shaw Corporation. Even the engagement had been reassigned—from Ethan to Ryan. Vivian had only been four at the time—already a bargaining chip in this powerful alliance. — Later that night. Ethan tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. All he could think about was the feel of her foot brushing against his lower part. Frustrated, he got up, threw on a jacket, and stepped out to use the bathroom. As he walked along the second-floor hallway, he heard faint sounds ahead—from Ryan’s room. The door was ajar. He hadn’t meant to look—but curiosity, and a restless urge he couldn’t name—made him stop in his tracks. He leaned in slightly. Inside, the lights were dim. Vivian was kneeling on the carpet, her shoulders bare, hair in disarray, a trace of blood on her lips. Ryan stood in front of her, grabbing her chin as he shouted, “Were you trying to seduce my brother during the toast just now?!” “I wasn’t,” she said hoarsely. “You’re being paranoid.” “You’d better not be playing games with me. Or I’ll send those photos of you to the press—” Before he finished, a harsh slap landed on her cheek, snapping her head to the side. Ethan’s mind went blank. His fists clenched tight, knuckles cracking. Bang—he kicked the door open with one furious punch.
“Stop!” Ethan Shaw burst through the door, yanking Ryan’s hand away and shielding Vivian Reed, who was trembling on her knees, behind him. A flicker of shock crossed Vivian’s bruised face—her lip split and eyes wide with disbelief. Ryan’s face twisted instantly. “What the fuck are you doing?!” “Are you insane? She’s your fiancée, not your punching bag!” Ethan was furious, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, barely restraining himself from losing control. The commotion had woken the entire Shaw estate. Lights snapped on. Footsteps thundered upstairs. Soon, Victor Shaw, his second wife Karen, and the servants all rushed to the scene. “What’s going on?” Victor frowned. “What is all this noise in the middle of the night?” Ryan sneered, his voice laced with venom. “Dad, he barged in while I was with Vivian and acted like a dick.” “Bullshit!” Ethan roared. Ryan pressed on, fueling the fire. “If you don’t believe me, ask her. He’s been staring at her all night. Something’s clearly wrong with him.” Ryan’s mother Karen threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ryan, stop—your brother has always been jealous of you. Now he wants to steal your fiancée too? It’s disgusting.” Ethan’s chest heaved with rage. All logic burned away. “That’s not true! Ethan didn’t—!” Vivian tried to speak, but Ryan jerked her toward him. The look in his eyes was a silent, cruel warning: one word, and those photos—the ones that could ruin her—would be everywhere. And then Ethan let out a bitter laugh. “Jealous of you? Of course I am. From the moment you and your mother moved in, you became the eldest son—I became nothing. You got the master bedroom, I got the storage closet. The walls are full of your happy family photos. I’m not even allowed one picture of my mom.” He turned to his father, stepped closer, eyes burning. “No one knows she was the legal wife. That woman with you now? is just a cheap streetwalker.” “That’s enough!” Victor snapped, and without warning, slapped Ethan hard across the face. Smack! The sound echoed like a thunderclap. Silence fell over the hallway. Ethan’s head jerked to the side. For a moment, his ears rang and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “You’re ruthless. Do you even remember my mother?” “If you dare stir up trouble again—get out of my house!” Victor growled through clenched teeth. Ethan didn’t argue. He just chuckled—soft, cold, and hollow. He glanced at Vivian, whose wrist was still gripped by Ryan. In his eyes: regret. And shame. Regret for losing temper towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck about him at all. Shame for being humiliated like this in front of the woman he liked since young. “Fine. I’ll leave.” Just as he was about to storm off— “Wait—” Vivian broke free from Ryan’s grasp, ran to Ethan, and whispered, “The engagement party… ten days from now. You have to come.” Ethan looked at her—a girl so small, so fragile—and gave a faint nod. Then he walked out without another word, into the pounding storm. — Ethan sat on the front steps, rain soaking his hair, lashes, and open wounds. He looked like a discarded child—battered, abandoned, and completely alone. “Mom!” he cried out into the storm. The image of her dying face flashed in his mind. Her hand on his cheek, her voice gentle: “Don’t worry, Ethan. He’ll find you one day.” But Ethan never understood what she meant—even after she was gone. The one person who had truly loved him, gone forever. Then, through the downpour, blinding headlights pierced the night. A convoy of black sedans rolled to a stop before him. Car doors opened in unison. Dozens of men in black suits stepped out with military precision, cold and composed. The man leading them held a black umbrella. He approached Ethan, bowed respectfully. “Young master. The Godfather requests your return.” Ethan looked up. His eyes were cold as steel, rain streaking down his face like tears.
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