Revenge Marriage Lust Not Love

When Alsa arrived at the hotel, snow had begun to fall.

The crowd of reporters gathered at the entrance stood in stark contrast to the bleak weather.

Ross's assistant spotted her and hurried over. "Alsa, what are you doing here?"

Alsa had the kind of beauty that could captivate souls, but her usual lack of smiles lent her a serious and composed demeanor.

Without a change in expression, she removed her leather gloves and lifted her gaze. "Where is President Moore?"

The assistant hesitated. "He's in the room."

Alsa withdrew her gaze and walked forward to knock on the door. A moment later, a young woman, barely in her twenties with red-rimmed eyes, opened it.

The girl didn't recognize Alsa. She sniffled and asked in a delicate voice, "Are you from President Moore's crisis management team?"

Alsa nodded slightly and stepped past her into the room.

Just as she entered, Ross emerged from the bathroom, a loosely tied towel hanging around his waist. Droplets of water fell from his damp hair, tracing down his collarbone before disappearing beneath the towel. His effortless sensuality seemed almost innate.

Seeing Alsa, Ross smirked-completely unbothered by the fact that his newlywed wife had just caught him in a scandalous scene. "Why is it you?"

Alsa met his amused, teasing gaze with unwavering calm. "This situation is tricky. There's a swarm of gossip reporters downstairs, and no one else wants to handle it."

Their conversation flowed smoothly, an odd mix of indifference and familiarity.

Apart from Ross's assistant, no one knew they had been married for three months.