Owned By Mistake

Nighttime, Carter Mansion

When Gilbert had ordered his maids to take care of that woman, he meant to clean her up and put her in the guest room.

But his staff, ever efficient and utterly misinformed, had done the opposite.

They'd bathed Cherry, dressed her in a bathrobe, and tucked her neatly into his bed.

Which was a problem.

Gilbert Ace Carter didn't just have high standards, he had mysophobia. The idea of someone else's scent, someone else's presence, lingering on his sheets? Unthinkable.

So he slept in the guest room. But come morning, out of habit, he returned to his bathroom for a shower, forgetting that the woman was still there.

Until she woke up.

And loosened her robe.

"You really have no self-awareness," Gilbert muttered dryly, glancing down at his lower body.

Cherry blinked, confused. But when she followed his gaze and realized her bathrobe had slipped open, fully exposing her chest, it was already too late.

"Ah!" she squeaked, scrambling to grab the blanket and wrap it tightly around her. Her face turned crimson, and she pulled her knees up under the covers, trying to disappear.

Gilbert, still towel-drying his wet black hair, raised a brow. The corner of his mouth curved in amusement.

The maids had mistaken Cherry for someone important. And after cleaning her up, they'd dressed her in nothing but the hotel-style robe they normally reserved for his guests.

Gilbert's eyes flicked toward her again, but only briefly. From what he'd seen, she wasn't quite as flat as he'd teased her for. Modest, sure, but not exactly lacking.

Cherry, still red in the face, peeked up at him from under the comforter.

"C-Can you go out for a moment?" she asked softly, clutching the fabric tighter around her.

Gilbert crossed his arms. "Is this what your university teaches? Kick the owner out of his own room?"

"I'm begging you," she mumbled, barely audible.

"I can't hear you," he said, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

Cherry exhaled, then stuck her flushed face out from under the covers. "Please. Can you go out for a moment?"

For a second, he didn't move. His gaze settled on her face, pink cheeks, lips still swollen from sleep, her eyes bright and glassy.

He didn't say anything, just tossed the paper bag in his hand onto the bed beside her, then walked out.

The door clicked shut.

Cherry sagged with relief. Her heart was throbbing so loudly she could hear it.

She grabbed the paper bag and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Facing the mirror, she quickly checked herself, no strange bruises and no pain. Nothing unusual. Just as Gilbert had told her, nothing happened last night.

Even drunk, even angry, even holding all the power, he hadn't touched her.

And somehow, that made her feel both safe and strangely exposed.

Cherry took the dress from the paper bag and nearly fainted when she saw the price tag, five hundred dollars. For a single piece of clothing?

Her hands trembled. She looked around for her old clothes, but they were nowhere in sight. Of course. He probably had them thrown out like garbage.

With no other choice, she slipped into the expensive dress and the new underwear that came with it. The fabric felt soft, luxurious, and unfamiliar. Like it didn't belong to someone like her.

Once dressed, Cherry stepped out of the room and was immediately struck by the overwhelming beauty of the mansion. The hallways gleamed with polished wood and subtle lighting, and as she descended the grand staircase, she found herself surrounded by an elegant, gold-and-red motif that made the entire living room look like it belonged in a movie.

The marble floor was covered with a rich red carpet. One wall was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a wide view of Makati's skyline. But what caught her eye most was the large, framed family portrait hanging proudly in the center, Gilbert's family.

The contrast hit her all over again. She didn't belong here.

No matter how many baths she took or expensive dresses she wore, she was still the same girl who juggled part-time jobs and hospital shifts, who depended on scholarships and prayer.

But none of this would've happened if not for Grandma Mathilde. Her love for her grandson and her gamble on Cherry were the only reasons Cherry had ever crossed paths with someone like Gilbert Ace Carter.

And now, here he was.

Seated on a velvet couch, wearing simple black slacks and a plain shirt. His hair was still damp, falling slightly into his eyes, giving him a more relaxed, human appearance than usual. Less CEO. More, man.

He held a newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He didn't look up when she entered. Didn't even flinch.

Cherry stood frozen at the edge of the living room, unsure whether to speak. But then she remembered why she had to. She needed to get to her brother. She needed to know if their mother had slept alone in the hospital. She couldn't waste time.

So, swallowing her nervousness, she stepped forward.

"Y-You still haven't paid me for our conversation last night, Mr. Ace Carter," she said, her voice soft but firm.

Gilbert didn't lift his gaze. But a slow grin formed on his lips. He had seen her standing there the whole time, hesitating like a guilty child caught sneaking into a palace.

And now she was finally speaking.

'She's really obsessed with money,' Gilbert thought as he took a calm sip of his coffee. Without looking at her, he said coolly, "Do you even remember why you're here?"

Cherry kept her head low, her hands trembling as she bowed slightly at his feet. "I-I remember a little,"

Gilbert leaned back into the plush sofa, stretching his long legs lazily in front of him. His tone was bored, indifferent. "Alright then. Go on. Tell me what you remember."

Cherry's lips trembled. "Y-You said you'd give me ten thousand for every glass of wine I drank, and then," Her voice faded, her stomach twisting as the memory clawed its way back.

She had tried to spit on him.

In public.

Cherry bit her lower lip, her pulse quickening. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to scold him. Not to humiliate herself. Do not kiss him. Not cling to him like a lost little girl.

Trying to collect herself, Cherry folded her hands together, bowing a little deeper. Her voice came out small and ashamed. "I-I'm wearing your clothes, so just deduct the payment for them, and please give me twenty thousand. That's all I'm asking."

It was humiliating, asking for money like this. But she needed it. Luke was still in the hospital. They had bills piling up. And she had no one else.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "That's all you remember?"

Cherry hesitated, then nodded. "Y-Yes."

She didn't dare tell him the rest, the way she'd kissed him, bit his lip, called him her husband. She'd rather swallow her tongue than say it out loud.

But then Gilbert moved.

Without warning, he leaned forward until his face was just inches from hers. Cherry flinched as his hand came up and tilted her chin up gently but firmly. His dark eyes locked onto hers.

"You really don't remember what happened, Cherry Blaire?"

Her breath caught. That voice. That name. The way he said it sent chills down her spine.

Then she saw it.

The faint cut on his lip.

Cold dread washed over her like ice water.

The images came rushing back, her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips pressed clumsily to his, her voice whispering my husband in a drunken slur. The warmth of his chest, the way she clung to him like he was safety itself.

Her stomach dropped.

She'd done all of that to him.

Gilbert observed her, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Looks like you remember now," he said, voice low and amused.