Wuthering Waves: I Was Hired by Carlotta Montelli

Time seemed to freeze in that moment.

Ray stood rigid, unsure where to look.

But Phrolova remained surprisingly calm. She simply spoke in an even tone.

"You have impeccable timing."

That barely inflected sentence was like a key, finally unlocking the spell that had frozen Ray in place.

He snapped back to his senses, letting out a somewhat awkward dry cough, forcing himself to look away but his peripheral vision, as if locked onto a target, still uncontrollably traced the young woman's body, which glowed softly in the lamplight.

"For the record, I didn't mean to."

"Secondly, I won't say something stupid like 'I didn't see anything'."

"Finally, if you're upset about it, I can take off all my clothes right now and let you look back. Then... we'll be even."

This startling "theory of equality" finally got a reaction out of Phrolova.

She slightly furrowed her delicate brows, tilted her head, and studied Ray with a probing gaze, as if examining a strange object.

After a long moment, she asked softly, in her usual steady tone, but with a hint of confirmation, "Are you... a pervert?"

"Before calling me a pervert, you might want to pick up your towel."

Ray's voice held a note of resignation.

Following his gaze, Phrolova looked down and belatedly realized she was still standing naked before him.

An ordinary young woman would have been terribly embarrassed by now.

But Phrolova simply lowered her eyes calmly, showing no reaction at all.

The long years had worn away too many emotions, including shame.

She looked at the slightly flustered Ray, then curved her lips into a faint smile as she bent down to pick up the towel. "So... did you like what you saw?"

Ray was stunned by her sudden question. "Did I like what?"

"I mean..." Phrolova draped the towel casually over her arm, her gaze calmly meeting his. "My body."

"..."

Now, how was he supposed to answer that?

Phrolova's body...

Though she was very slender, the soft, feminine curves were still there, outlining a fragile and unique beauty in the lamplight, her pale skin still glistening with droplets from the bath, the gentle swell of her small but perfectly shaped breasts rising and falling with each breath, her narrow waist flaring into smooth hips, and her long, toned legs pressed lightly together.

"If I say I liked it, will you call me a pervert?"

"So you did like it?" Phrolova let out a soft laugh, filled with an indescribable meaning.

She gazed at Ray, at the man who had forgotten his vows, forgotten even himself.

By all rights, she should hate him.

But the emotions churning in her heart were never related to hatred.

Was it love?

Perhaps.

But more precisely, it should be a sigh carried across the long passage of time, a more complex emotion, heavier than love, more enduring than hate.

"If you say so, then it is."

Ray tried to keep his tone casual as he turned to close the door, the metal lock giving a crisp click.

He walked to the center of the living room, deliberately fixing his gaze on the night outside the window. "Where's Ciaccona?"

"Not long after you left, she went out too."

"Where did she go?"

"How would I know?" Phrolova shook her head gently. "Probably to see Carlotta."

"I see."

Ray's peripheral vision unconsciously swept over her figure, still wrapped only in the towel.

The light spread a soft glow over her damp skin, her slender curves faintly visible beneath the thin fabric.

Though Ray was confident in his self-control, he still couldn't help feeling a bit overheated.

What's her problem? Why isn't she getting dressed?

Doesn't she realize that I'm a healthy, mature man?

Standing in front of me like that, wrapped only in a towel... does she really think I'm a saint?

Sigh, this is getting frustrating. Should I go see the Second Miss?

"Hey, Phrolova..." Ray's tone became more serious. "Aren't you... forgetting something?"

"Forgetting what?" Phrolova lifted her gaze, a flicker of genuine confusion in her eyes. "Shouldn't you be the one remembering something?"

"What are you talking about?" Ray rubbed his forehead helplessly, finally deciding to put an end to this torture. "What I mean is, shouldn't you go to your room and put some clothes on now?"

The young woman tilted her head slightly at these words, her wet hair sliding off her shoulder, then covered her mouth with a soft laugh. "What's wrong? If I don't get dressed, are you going to attack me?"

As she spoke, Phrolova stepped forward, her bare feet treading on the wooden floor. Each step made a damp, sticky sound, unusually clear in the silent room.

"Finally unable to hold back, like in the old days?"

She clasped her hands behind her back and suddenly leaned forward.

The towel loosened slightly with the movement, the shadows at the neckline gently rising and falling with her breath, offering a teasing glimpse of the soft, pale curves of her breasts and the faint pink of her nipples pressing against the fabric.

A faint smile played on the young woman's lips as she tilted her face up to meet his eyes, her long lashes still dotted with a few beads of water.

At this close distance, Ray could even smell a faint fragrance emanating from her, not the cloying sweetness of body wash, but a cool, floral scent.

His hands hanging at his sides unconsciously clenched, his throat bobbing.

Phrolova, however, seemed completely unaware of the imminent danger. She leaned even closer, her warm breath brushing against his tense jaw.

"Things far more excessive than this... have been done before."

"You just forgot."

Despite her words, the young woman's eyes were frighteningly calm, holding an indescribable sadness.

Why use this to test an old cadre?

Which old cadre could withstand such a test?

"Miss Phrolova." Ray forced himself to look away, his tone awkward. "I might look like that person, but I really am not. So... let's keep things more normal between us."

"If you say you aren't, then you aren't?" She took another half step closer, the edge of her towel almost touching his shirt. "I'm really curious... if one day you remember what you did, will you feel guilty—"

Her voice was as light as a sigh, but her eyes held a fog that wouldn't clear.

"Even just a shred of guilt."

Ray: "..."

What should he do now?

Judging by Phrolova's attitude, she really saw him as that person.

"Um, Miss Phrolova, are you hungry? Would you like... something to eat?" Ray tried to change the subject.

"I am a little hungry." Phrolova answered softly, but didn't move an inch.

"Then I'll—"

Just then, the sound of the door lock turning cut the words short.

Before they could react, the door swung open.

Carlotta stood at the threshold, a bag of groceries in her hand. Her smile froze the moment she saw the scene inside.

Phrolova was practically lying on Ray, a towel loosely wrapped around her, her wet hair tangled over her shoulders.

Ray was half-lying on the sofa, his hands suspended in the air, looking as though he didn't know where to put them.

"What... what are you doing!?"

The bag slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a thud, potatoes rolling everywhere.

"Get off him!" she shouted at Phrolova, then quickly corrected herself, "No! You get off him! I'm his girlfriend!"