Owned By Mistake

Even though she was drunk, Cherry hadn't forgotten why she started drinking in the first place.

"Are you really not going to pay me?" she asked, her voice shaky but serious.

Gilbert's jaw twitched.

She had no idea what kind of fire she was playing with.

Instead of responding, he stepped forward and, without warning, scooped her into his arms.

"W-What are you doing?!" Cherry cried out, stunned, as he slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

"Since you want payment so badly," Gilbert muttered, cold and controlled, "I'll give you what you're worth."

Gasps echoed from the corners of the room as Gilbert stormed out of the lounge, Cherry draped over him. The air snapped with tension. No one dared stop him, not with the expression on his face. He was unreadable. But his fury? That was unmistakable.

Knox stood frozen. Then he swore under his breath and took off after them. He knew Gilbert better than most. When he was like this, when pride and confusion collided, he could do something reckless. Something he couldn't take back.

He caught up in the underground garage just as Gilbert shoved open the passenger side door.

"Bro, wait!" Knox called out, panting slightly. "She's drunk. She didn't mean it. It was me, I tripped her. Don't take it out on her."

Gilbert paused, one hand gripping the car door.

For a moment, silence.

Then, without turning, he asked, voice low, "Why? You like her?"

Knox blinked, caught off guard. "What? No, I just think. "

Gilbert turned his head slowly, his expression locked in something unreadable. "You like her?"

Knox glanced at the girl slumped in the seat. Cherry's face was flushed, her eyes glassy, tear tracks visible. She looked delicate. Vulnerable. And even in her messy, intoxicated state, so heartbreakingly human.

"I didn't say that," Knox answered carefully.

Gilbert scoffed, then muttered under his breath, "This isn't possible."

Knox frowned. "Why not?"

Gilbert's eyes shifted back to Cherry. His voice, when it came, was colder than before. "You like women with curves. She's flat."

Knox stared at him. His silence stretched long.

Because that wasn't indifferent to Gilbert's voice.

It was a deflection.

It was a possession.

And buried somewhere beneath the sarcasm, it was something Gilbert Ace Carter didn't know how to deal with.

Knox didn't say a word.

Because in all the years he'd known Gilbert, this was a first, the mask cracking, the composure slipping.

The girl in the car wasn't just some drunk stranger.

And that was what scared Gilbert the most.

"I just feel guilty, alright?" Knox muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's my fault. I wanted to make up for it."

Gilbert didn't even glance at him. His eyes remained fixed on Cherry, now slumped lifelessly against the car seat, completely unaware of the quiet war happening around her.

"Since when do you feel guilty?" he muttered flatly.

Knox opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. He couldn't deny it; his friend was right.

Without another word, Gilbert slid into the backseat. He nudged Cherry's sleeping body to the opposite side, careful not to let their skin touch. Just enough distance.

"Drive," he told the chauffeur.

As the car eased forward into the night, Knox called after him, "Bro, just punish her or something! She won't survive a beating!"

It was a bad joke. A nervous one. But Gilbert didn't even blink.

He rolled down the window halfway, letting the crisp night air hit his face. He needed clarity. Space. Distance from the mess sitting inches beside him.

But Cherry stirred.

Still half-asleep, she frowned, her brows pulling together. Then, without opening her eyes, she reached out for something and found Gilbert's hand.

She sighed softly, resting her cheek against it like it was a pillow. Her breath was warm, innocent, and completely unaware of the chaos inside the man she'd just touched.

Gilbert tensed immediately. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Without thinking, he yanked his hand away and stared at it, disgusted to see a faint smear of drool left behind. He grabbed a tissue and wiped it off with fast, agitated movements.

What the hell was he doing?

Why had he brought her with him?

This girl was chaos. And the worst part? She didn't even know it.

He turned back toward the window, but before the irritation could consume him again, he heard it.

"D-Don't," she whimpered softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "Don't leave Cherry."

Gilbert froze.

The words were fragile, the tone childlike, like a scared little girl, not a manipulator or a gold-digger. Not someone playing a part.

Just a broken human being.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for her.

A beat passed.

Then, his voice cut through the silence.

"Do you really like that loser from your university?"

It came out quietly. Almost casual. But his eyes, sharp, focused, never left her face. He hated himself for asking. Hated that he cared.

Cherry murmured something incoherent and turned away.

Gilbert leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would drown out the mess in his head.

It didn't.

Not with her here.

Not when she was slipping into places in his mind he'd never let anyone nearby.

And then, it happened.

Cherry shifted, moving instinctively in her sleep. She crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck with the weight and desperation of a child seeking shelter from a storm.

Her body trembled.

Her breath smelled faintly of cheap wine.

She whispered against his skin, "Don't leave me, my husband."

Gilbert stopped breathing.

She wasn't conscious. She wasn't pretending. In that moment, she wasn't anything but vulnerable and raw.

And she called him her husband.

He didn't move. Didn't push her away.

But his heart, ice-cold, calculating, and untouched for years, cracked just a little.

For a moment, his pulse stumbled.

Her words, slurred and fragile, hit something he thought he'd buried a long time ago. Somewhere deep, untouched by guilt or sentiment. Somewhere he'd sworn no one would ever reach.

Cherry's lips brushed clumsily against his. It wasn't a kiss. Not really. It was awkward, desperate, almost innocent.

"Cherry," he said tightly, gripping her shoulders to pull her away. "What are you doing?"

But she didn't hear him.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. Her voice, barely more than a breath. "My scholarship, he framed me, I didn't do anything."

His grip loosened.

She wasn't here, not really. Her fists trembled weakly in the air, like she was fighting off ghosts. And in that moment, Gilbert didn't see a seductress. Or a manipulator. Or whatever other convenient labels he'd used to justify his distance.

He saw a girl. A student. A sister. A young woman is clinging to the last thread of her life.

Gilbert let out a low breath and gently pushed her back. This time, not with force, but with care.

He settled onto the seat, easing her head against the cushion. Her hair fell across her flushed cheek, damp from tears and sleep. He brushed it back with a sigh.

"You're drunk," he muttered. "Sleep it off."

Cherry murmured something unintelligible and curled up, arms tucked into herself like a frightened child. Her breathing slowly evened out.

Gilbert leaned back, watching the city blur past the window. But his mind wasn't in the city. It was with her.

She didn't know what she was doing.

And for the first time, maybe neither did he.

Then, softly, "Ugh," Cherry groaned, shifting her weight.

He tensed when her face turned toward him, and her forehead rested lightly against his chest. One of her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt.

Gilbert's hand, which had been hovering near his lap, instinctively lifted and caught her chin. He didn't even realize he was holding her until he felt her tremble under his touch.

Her breath hitched.

"Don't leave Cherry," she whispered.

That voice, so raw, so small, broke something open in him.

His hands loosened.

For a moment, he didn't see himself as the CEO, the one with all the power, the name, the fortune. He saw himself as a man. And the girl wrapped around him? She wasn't an enemy. She wasn't even a problem. She was hurting.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" he muttered under his breath.

Then, just as he moved to adjust her again, Cherry stirred. She leaned closely, lips parted to whisper something, but he didn't catch it.

And then it happened.

Her lips brushed against him again.

Still not a kiss. Still uncoordinated. But this time, there were tears.

"Hey," Gilbert started.

She pulled back just enough to whisper something else. He caught it this time.

"My wife, don't leave me."

And then she slumped forward, her forehead resting against his shoulder. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts.

He sat there, frozen. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head, but none made it to his lips. Mostly, what he felt was helplessness.

"Idiot," he said quietly, the word aimed squarely at himself.

But the moment shattered, brutally, suddenly.

Cherry's body lurched.

Gilbert's eyes widened, but it was too late.

She vomited, right there, all over his chest.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered through gritted teeth.

The driver swerved slightly. Gilbert just sat there, stiff as stone, arms lifted awkwardly, as if he would himself into another dimension.

A long silence followed.

Then, finally, he exhaled hard and pulled out his phone.

"Call housekeeping. And get me a clean suit," he said into the mic, deadpan.

He looked down at Cherry, now passed out again, face pale, lips parted, curled up like nothing had happened.

"This girl," he whispered under his breath, voice tight, "is going to be the death of me."

The stench hit him instantly.

"Damn it," Gilbert growled, recoiling as he glanced down at the mess soaking into the pristine leather seats.

"Cherry Blaire!" he snapped, his voice tight with disbelief and frustration.

But there was no response.

She had slumped against the door, pale and completely unconscious. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing shallow. She looked like she'd been through a war.

Gilbert stared at her for a long second, jaw clenching as he tried to rein in his temper. He didn't even know who he was angrier at, Cherry, for being a disaster, or himself, for getting dragged into it.

Thirty minutes later, the car rolled into the private driveway of his Makati mansion.

Several members of his household staff were already waiting by the grand steps, heads bowed.

Gilbert stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, the loud thud cutting through the still night.

He stalked toward the nearest maid. "Get a guest room ready. Now," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "And clean the backseat. Every inch of it."

He glanced back at the car with visible disgust. "You take care of that woman!"

Without waiting for a response, Gilbert turned on his heel and headed inside.

He went straight to his bedroom, stripping off his stained clothes as he walked. Even after peeling them off, the sour scent clung to his skin like punishment. Disgusted, he stepped into the shower and stood under the scalding water, letting it run down his body like he could wash away the entire night

The next morning, Cherry woke up with a throbbing headache.

She groaned softly, rubbing her temple as she sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy, and the ache in her head made it hard to think clearly.

The room was unfamiliar, pristine and luxurious, the walls painted in soft tones of gray and white. The sheets were smooth, the air-conditioning humming gently in the background.

Where the hell am I? She wondered, panicking starting to bubble beneath the fog in her brain.

She looked around for clues, her heart racing. That's when she heard the soft click of a door opening.

Her eyes darted toward the bathroom and froze.

Gilbert walked out, fresh from the shower, water dripping from his dark hair down his bare chest. He didn't bother covering himself, walking across the room like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Cherry's eyes went wide.

"Oh, rude!" she shrieked, quickly squeezing her eyes shut and grabbing the nearest pillow to throw at him. "Cover yourself, you maniac!"

Gilbert caught the pillow midair with one hand, unamused.

But then his expression shifted, like something had clicked. The sharp look in his eyes returned as he stared at her.

"Why are you yelling in someone else's room?" he asked coolly.

Cherry cracked one eye open, cheeks burning.

"B-Because you're n-naked!" she stammered, still shielding her face. "Why are you just walking around like that?! This isn't a zoo!"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and smirked faintly, as if he found her embarrassment amusing. But the moment didn't last.

He remembered last night.

The vomit. The chaos. The words she muttered in her sleep. The way she clung to him like a lifeline.

His smile faded. "You don't remember what happened, do you?"

Cherry peeked at him between her fingers, still flustered. "I, I remember drinking, a little."

Gilbert crossed his arms. "You threw up on me."

Her mouth felt open. "I what?!"

He stared her down. "All over my car. My suit. My chest."

Cherry groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I want to die."

Gilbert grabbed a towel from the chair and finally wrapped it around his waist. "Well, you're still alive, and you owe me new leather seats."

"What should I even wear at home?" Gilbert muttered to himself like it was a philosophical dilemma. He strolled over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of gray slacks and black underwear.

Cherry peeked from under the covers the moment she heard the belt buckle clink. Her eyes opened just enough to make sure the coast was clear. Gilbert was shirtless, but at least now he was wearing pants. That was better than what she'd woken up to earlier.

She rubbed her temples and sat up slowly. "W-Why am I here, Mr. Ace Carter?" she asked, her voice scratchy, her confusion growing by the second.

Gilbert glanced over his shoulder, his gaze unreadable. "You really don't remember anything?"

Cherry squinted, trying to put the pieces together. The last thing she could recall was drinking. He had dared her, offered ten thousand in exchange, and she'd foolishly taken the bait.

But everything after that was a blur.

Her stomach dropped.

A cold sweat prickled the back of her neck as one terrifying thought crossed her mind. "W-We didn't do anything, did we?" she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, slowly turning to face her fully. "Like what?" he asked, his tone calm but clearly amused.

Cherry's lips parted, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. What if she was wrong? What if he laughed in her face? This was Gilbert Ace Carter, after all, the last person she wanted to look weak in front of.

His grin widened slightly, eyes narrowing with mock curiosity. "Are you asking if we had sex?"

Cherry's face burned. She whipped her head toward the other side of the room and buried half her face in the blanket.

Couldn't he say things like that with at least some shame?

But of course not, this was him.

Gilbert grabbed his shirt from the bedpost, completely unfazed. "Relax," he said casually. "I'm not interested in someone as flat as you."

Her jaw dropped.

Cherry whipped her head back around, fury battling her embarrassment. "You! Excuse me?!"

Gilbert's smirk didn't falter. He slid on his shirt with infuriating calm. "There. See? You're wide awake now."

Cherry fumed in silence.

She hated him.

She really hated him.

And yet her heart was throbbing in a way it absolutely shouldn't be.