Falling into Her Trap: Don't Cross the Line, Mr. President-Chapter 4: Do You Think I Would Marry You?

Claire Shaw realized for the first time how a man so tough and strong could have a voice that could make one weak in the knees.

Compared to a fleeting moment of indulgence, Claire Shaw was more concerned about her future, so before being bewitched, she coldly said, "Mr. Blackwood, please behave yourself. I have no interest in being someone’s stepmother."

Claire Shaw shattered the ambiguous atmosphere.

Ethan Blackwood’s expression was deep, his gaze scrutinizing and sharp, an invisible pressure surging forward.

"So you think I would marry you?"

Faced with this taboo topic, Claire Shaw remained unmoved, "Mr. Blackwood, you’ve misunderstood. From the beginning, I’ve been very clear that our relationship is limited to the bedroom. Whether you want to marry me is not important. I’ve never had any thoughts of marrying you, not now, and not in the future."

She took off the evening gown and changed back into her own clothes.

"This is the end, Mr. Blackwood."

Claire Shaw turned coldly, leaving without looking back.

Leaving the dressing room, she took out her phone, initially intending to block the man on WeChat.

Thinking about Mason, after all, he’s the student’s father.

Claire Shaw changed the contact note from [188,20] to [Mason’s Dad].

From now on, she and this man would draw clear boundaries, never to have any involvement again.

But reality struck quicker than Claire Shaw imagined because today was the day of the home visit.

Mason’s family situation was special, previously there had been no convenient time, so it was scheduled towards the end.

However, Claire Shaw did not know at the time that Ethan Blackwood would be Mason’s father.

She took a deep breath, thinking that even if he’s busy, the home visit might not necessarily involve him.

As the evening deepened and the sun’s last rays withdrew from the horizon, Claire Shaw arrived at the Blackwood Family home.

The white-haired butler greeted her warmly and politely.

Heels clicked into the courtyard, lights already lit, and the villa before her was grand and majestic, resembling the castles found in fairytale books.

It’s hard to imagine the man who dressed simply each time they met lived in such a place.

Claire Shaw took out a pair of shoe covers she had prepared in advance, but the thoughtful old butler handed her a pair of women’s slippers.

"Ms. Shaw, please wear these; they’re brand new."

"Thank you."

Claire Shaw took off her high heels and put on the slippers, which fit her feet perfectly.

She glanced around the spacious and bright living room, finding no one beneath the several meters high crystal chandelier.

"Where’s Mason?"

"He’s practicing boxing. Ms. Shaw, please follow me."

The old butler led her to take the elevator to the basement level two, which Claire found curious; could their reception room be underground?

As the elevator doors opened, the scene that greeted Claire Shaw was a boxing ring.

On the ring stood one big and one small figure, the little guy wearing boxing gloves, sweat soaking through his hair.

Ethan Blackwood wore black casual pants, his top half bare.

In the dim light, his brows lowered, even if his expression was unclear, one could feel an overwhelming murderous intent assaulting from all directions.

Sweat dripped down the man’s jawline, his Adam’s apple moving slightly.

This Ethan Blackwood was cold and stylish, starkly different from when he pressed her in the dressing room.

"Drip."

Claire Shaw clearly saw a bead of sweat fall onto his bronze-toned chest muscles, gradually soaking into his scar.

He fixed his gaze on Mason, his voice firm and reminiscent of her drill instructor, stern and ruthless.

"Stand up, go on, defeat me."

Mason was exhausted, struggling to get up but his right foot gave way, and he knelt down again, his hands supporting him as he gasped for air.

The man felt it was not enough, lifting Mason easily with one hand, the muscle in his arms bulging.

Claire Shaw couldn’t appreciate his overwhelming masculine allure, but quickly stepped forward to grab his arm, positioning her body protectively in front of Mason.

"Stop, Mr. Blackwood."

Claire Shaw’s delicate white hands stood in contrast to Ethan Blackwood’s bronze arm.

White versus black, strong versus weak.

"Step aside." Ethan Blackwood’s gaze was so cold it was frightening; his entire being overflowed with murderous intent, making Claire Shaw feel terrified.

She thought of Mason’s bruises, previously believing them to be from a playful boy falling at home, but now realized the real cause.

No wonder Mason was so ruthless when hitting Dustin Lawrence, leaving him utterly defenseless.

"Mr. Blackwood, Mason is only five years old. Aren’t your expectations a bit too harsh?"

Ethan Blackwood’s gaze fell on her clean, fair face, "Ms. Shaw, on what grounds are you demanding of me?"

Claire Shaw, amidst his overpowering presence, did not retreat in the slightest. Her spine straightened: "Mr. Blackwood, I am Mason’s teacher. For the child’s mental and physical health, I have the duty to remind you that haste and force are not the right solutions."

The butler was a bit surprised; this seemingly gentle young lady showed not an ounce of fear towards Ethan Blackwood!

The air was tense between the two; he quickly stepped in to mediate: "Ms. Shaw is right, the young master is indeed tired. I’ll take him to change clothes and rest for a while."

When Mason left, Claire Shaw clearly saw his legs trembling, unsure of how long the man had been pushing him.

A hint of compassion flashed in her eyes; in the empty space, Claire Shaw spoke directly: "He’s just a child, how can he withstand such intense training?"

"What, feeling sorry for him?" Ethan Blackwood approached her, the man’s dominating presence forcing her to retreat step by step.

Until her back hit the ropes, Claire Shaw had nowhere else to go.

Ethan Blackwood leaned in, one hand gripping the ropes, encompassing Claire Shaw’s entire body within his domain.

"Mr. Blackwood, please mind your behavior."

Claire Shaw couldn’t avoid it, with the man’s wild body right before her.

At such a close distance, his well-defined face was clearly visible, beads of sweat covering it densely.

He grasped Claire Shaw’s chin, his damp fingertips carrying a burning heat, as if threatening to melt her.

Should he move just an inch closer, he could kiss Claire Shaw.

In the height of passion, he often wanted to kiss her, but every time Claire Shaw would deflect the moment with a clever excuse.

He nearly tasted every part of her body, except for her red lips.

Thus, the most attractive part about Claire Shaw for him was her lips.

Ethan Blackwood’s fingers exerted a slight force, picking up the previous topic: "If you feel sorry for him, ever consider being his stepmother?"

Claire Shaw’s eyes widened; she raised her hand to swing at his face, "Jerk."

Her wrist was effortlessly captured by the man, twisted behind her back, her strength in front of him wasn’t even a light drizzle.

"Let me go! Ethan Blackwood."

"No more pretending? Ms. Shaw..."

He prolonged the words, turning the title into something subtly ambiguous.

His hand wandered at Claire Shaw’s waist.

Claire Shaw tried to avoid his touch, leaning back, supported by the ropes, hanging as if in mid-air, giving her no sense of security.

She instinctively hooked around the man’s neck, emitting a startled cry.

Ethan Blackwood leaned down to bite Claire Shaw’s earlobe, "Ms. Shaw, do you want to?"