Playing the Villainess, He Fell for Me

Simon Lockwood lowered his head slightly to adjust her clothes. Joanna Kennedy could see his damp, black hair; he was only wearing a white shirt underneath. A pang of unease went through her. "I’m not cold. You should wear it yourself..."

As Joanna Kennedy spoke, before she could take it off, Simon Lockwood’s deep voice sounded from above. "Stay still."

Those two words were like a spell. Joanna Kennedy froze, then hung her head and reached for Simon Lockwood’s hand. Only after her fingers touched his did she remember that her left palm was wrapped in gauze, and she instinctively tried to pull her hand away.

But Simon Lockwood had already seen it. He grabbed her wrist, his expression instantly turning cold. "What’s there to hide?"

He said it as if he already knew, but Joanna Kennedy, feeling guilty, didn’t catch the implication. She stammered, "Who’s hiding anything?"

"How did you get hurt?"

The man’s voice was level and cool, carrying clearly to everyone’s ears.

The crowd, still reeling from the shock that ’Joanna Kennedy’s patron is actually the President of Southland, Simon Lockwood,’ finally snapped back to reality. Hearing his question, even though they knew it wasn’t for them, they couldn’t help but feel a nervous flutter.

Joanna Kennedy had been injured during a promotional event for the film. While she had gotten hurt saving someone, which wasn’t the production team’s fault directly, it could ultimately be traced back to the negligence of the crew.

The director bit the bullet and explained the situation. He had thought it was a minor incident and hadn’t reported it, but he never expected this Mr. Lockwood to be so attentive. He even seemed a little angry.

’He must really care about her,’ everyone couldn’t help but think.

Only when the man led Joanna Kennedy upstairs by the hand did the rest of them let out a collective sigh of relief. His presence was too intimidating.

"Special Assistant Warren, Mr. Lockwood... he isn’t mad, is he?" the director asked, his face a mask of misery.

"It’s fine, don’t worry." Jack Warren pushed up his glasses and said mildly, "He’ll get over it once he’s had a chance to be angry."

Everyone: "..."

The director: "..." Huh??

The director’s expression soured even further. The assistant director tried to console him, "Don’t overthink it. Mr. Lockwood just seems a bit cold. He doesn’t seem like a cruel person. He’s probably... not... right?"

Owen Jennings, who had been watching the "farce" from the sidelines with his arms crossed, let out a short, humorless laugh. His gaze drifted to the closed door on the second floor, an unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes.

Vivian Bishop came to his side and followed his gaze. "I never thought Joanna Kennedy and Mr. Lockwood had that kind of relationship," she said. "No wonder her career prospects suddenly improved so much."

The implication in her words was hard to miss.

Owen Jennings stretched his arms, refusing to take the bait. "It’s getting late. I’m going up to rest. You should get back to your room too, Vivi."

Vivian Bishop didn’t get the reaction she was hoping for. A flicker of resentment crossed her face, but she still said, "Alright. Rest well."

On the second floor, Joanna Kennedy closed the door and trailed closely behind the tall, imposing man. Her voice was soft. "I got hurt saving someone, doing a good deed. It wasn’t because I was being clumsy."

Simon Lockwood didn’t say a word. His eyes swept across the small room before landing on the hard-looking bedframe, and his brow furrowed even tighter.

Joanna Kennedy was still chattering on with her explanation when Simon Lockwood opened his black suitcase, took out a small first-aid kit, and said flatly, "Come here."

Joanna Kennedy shut her mouth, obediently went over, and sat down.

Simon Lockwood unwrapped the white gauze from her palm, which was already starting to peel at the edges. He let the wound air out for a moment before carefully re-dressing it.

Then, he took a small comforter out of his suitcase and, with a practiced, natural motion, spread it over the mattress. He pressed down on it, and only when he felt that the bed was no longer so hard did the knot between his brows slowly smooth out.

"It’s raining so hard the roads are closed. How did you get here all of a sudden?" Joanna Kennedy, having watched the whole display, draped herself over his back like she had no bones and nuzzled against him as she asked softly.

Her hands had a tendency to wander when she got clingy. Simon Lockwood caught her wrist, easily holding her back with a single finger against her forehead. His voice was taut. "Behave. The walls are thin here."

Joanna Kennedy: "..."

Joanna Kennedy’s face flushed, and she stopped nuzzling him. But her giddy excitement hadn’t faded. She clingily reached for his hand again, her mouth chattering on, "After the scene you just made, the whole crew knows about us now. What am I going to do if this puts me in the headlines again...?"

"It won’t," Simon Lockwood said, squeezing her fingers. His tone was unchanged. "They wouldn’t dare."

"But you came into my room. They’re definitely going to be gossiping about me behind my back," Joanna Kennedy said, deliberately provoking him.

Simon Lockwood’s brow furrowed. Unsure of how else to reassure her, he could only repeat himself. "They wouldn’t dare."

A knock sounded at the door. Jack Warren’s voice came through the wood. "Mr. Lockwood, your room is ready. It’s the one at the far right end of the second floor."

Having said his piece, he tactfully departed.

"Are you really going to stay in that room?" Joanna Kennedy asked, surprised.

Simon Lockwood nodded. "It wouldn’t be good for your reputation if I slept here."

He’d "taken off" his coat for her, held her hand, and entered her room, all in front of everyone. And now he was saying this?

Joanna Kennedy pouted. "You just love to put on a respectable act."

Simon Lockwood: "..."

Simon Lockwood didn’t argue.

’It’s not about putting on an act. In private, anything goes. But now, in front of everyone else, I can’t spend the night in the same room as Joanna Kennedy.’

’I don’t want others to look down on her.’

Joanna Kennedy didn’t consider that. Still sulking, she started listlessly tugging at the buttons on his shirt. For every one she undid, he would calmly button it back up.

After a few rounds of this, Joanna Kennedy got frustrated and pouted again. "I hate you..."

Despite her words, her body was quite honest, pressing closer against him and giving a few more clingy nuzzles.

Perhaps it was the bad weather, which always seems to amplify emotions and draw out the most sincere and fervent feelings from deep within.

Simon Lockwood couldn’t resist planting a kiss on her pouting lips. His expression didn’t change. "Hate me again?"

"Yup," Joanna Kennedy said haughtily.

"Oh," Simon Lockwood said. "So you won’t be eating the hot pot I brought for tomorrow, then?"

Hot pot?! What hot pot?!

Joanna Kennedy shot bolt upright. An image of the boxes his bodyguards had been carrying flashed through her mind. Her eyes lit up, and she couldn’t help but swallow. "You really brought ingredients?"

"I did," Simon Lockwood said. But before Joanna Kennedy could get excited, he added, "But you can’t have any."

Joanna Kennedy: "??!!"

"Why not?!" Joanna Kennedy cried, getting worked up. "Didn’t you bring it for me?!"

’Why won’t he let me eat it?’ Joanna Kennedy’s mind was now completely consumed by thoughts of hot pot: the fragrant, spicy, numbing broth, slices of tender lamb swirling in the bubbling pot...

Joanna Kennedy realized she was getting hungry. The craving was unbearable.

But Simon Lockwood was determined to tease her. He slowly straightened his wrinkled shirt and shot her a sidelong glance. "Don’t you hate me?"

’So petty,’

Joanna Kennedy complained inwardly, but her words were, "I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you!" She shook her head like a rattle, her voice softening. "Simon Lockwood, you’re the best~"