Chapter 42: The wet dream

Words : 1181 Updated : Sep 12th, 2025

Chapter 42: The wet dream At Augustine’s house... After freshening up, Anne stepped out of the bathroom and settled onto the bed with her laptop. She held up the pen drive between her fingers, an unwavering determination flashing in her sharp eyes. "Denis," she murmured. "This is just the beginning. As long as you keep me around you, I’ll make sure you regret it." Plugging the pen drive into the laptop, her fingers flew across the keyboard. Within moments, she bypassed the security barriers and infiltrated Becca’s account. Anne had always kept her hacking skills a secret, never intending to use them for revenge. But Denis’s betrayal, his cruelty, and his refusal to bring the true culprit to justice had left her with no choice. She smirked dangerously. "Becca, you stabbed me in the back and tried to ruin me. Now, it’s your turn to feel the burn. You picked the wrong person to cross, and I promise you—this will be your downfall." With calculated precision, she transferred the confidential project data from Becca’s account to a rival company’s server. The moment the files were uploaded, she leaned back on the headboard, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Let’s see how you talk your way out of this, Becca," she muttered, shutting the laptop. "And Denis... get ready for the storm." Stretching her arms above her head, she let out a contented sigh. "Now, I can finally get a good night’s sleep." Anne curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow. Exhaustion finally took over, and she drifted into sleep. But it was far from peaceful. Nightmares haunted her, and she found herself trapped in a dark room. Her frantic gaze looked around the space, fear gripping her heart. She pounded on the door with all her strength. "Mom! Laura! Please, open the door! I’m scared—don’t leave me here!" Silence. No matter how much she shouted, no one came to rescue her. Her throat was raw and scratchy from continuous shouting, and her hands ached from banging on the door relentlessly. "Please open the door..." Then, with a sudden force, the door flung open, knocking her backward. She gasped as the edge of the doorframe struck her forehead, sending a sharp pain through her skull. "Why are you always screaming?" her mother, Patricia, snapped, her voice cold and filled with irritation. "You’re such a nuisance." Before Anne could react, Paule started beating her. "Mom, please—stop!" Anne cried, shielding herself. But her mother’s fury was relentless. From the corner, Lorie sneered, arms crossed, her expression twisted with contempt. "You pathetic loser," she mocked. "Why don’t you just disappear already?" "I’ll kill you today." Patricia grabbed a wooden stick and raised it high above her head. Terror gripped Anne. She squeezed her eyes shut, raising her arm instinctively to block the incoming strike. But the pain never came. Silence descended inside the room. Slowly, hesitantly, Anne opened her eyes. She looked up, only to see Augustine holding her mother’s hand and stopping the brutal strike. "Augustine!" Anne murmured in a daze. Augustine shoved Patricia away with a force that sent her stumbling back. Then, he turned to Anne, his eyes softening as he stretched out his hand. Without hesitation, Anne put her hand on his. "Let’s get out of here," he murmured and pulled her up on her feet. Together they ran—away from the darkness, away from the pain. The wind rushed past them, their footsteps echoing in unison. Anne didn’t know where they were heading, but for the first time in a long while, she felt free. She glanced at Augustine, and a smile crept onto her lips. His presence filled her with an unfamiliar sense of peace. She liked his company. Augustine smiled at her. "Will you come with me to my place?" he whispered. Anne nodded without hesitation. "Let’s go." They didn’t stop running until they reached his house. As soon as the door closed behind them, laughter bubbled up between them. "Thank you for saving me," Anne said, her eyes shining. Augustine stepped closer, his hands lifting to cup her face. "Anything for you, my dear wife," he whispered. "I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life." Then, he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Anne melted against him, her arms sliding around his neck, pulling him closer. His warmth enveloped her, the kiss searing through every corner of her soul. He deepened the kiss. Augustine’s touch burned against her skin, his lips trailing fire along her body. Clothes disappeared, abandoned on the floor as he pressed her onto the sofa, his hands exploring, teasing, claiming. She moaned, arching into him, every nerve in her body alight. "Augustine..." His name escaped her lips in a whisper as the pleasure crested, sending her over the edge. Anne jolted awake with a sharp inhale, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The remnants of the dream clung to her skin, leaving her breathless, tingling. "What... was that?" she murmured, pressing a shaky hand to her damp forehead. The realization hit – her body’s unmistakable reaction, the warmth pooling between her thighs – everything clearly told her that she had a wet dream. Her face turned crimson. "This is so embarrassing." Mortified, she scrambled out of bed and dashed into the bathroom, the heat in her body refusing to fade. Anne inhaled deeply, willing herself to forget the vivid dream that had shaken her to the core. "It was just a dream," she reminded herself firmly. "Nothing more." She had hoped that a cold shower would wash away the lingering heat crawling under her skin, but to her dismay, it only seemed to make things worse. The memory of Augustine’s hands, his lips, the way he made her body tremble—it all clung to her mind like an intoxicating haze. By the time she made it to the dining table, her nerves were on edge. Her mind shamefully replayed flashes of those intimate scenes from her dream, making her irresistibly uneasy. She could barely lift her head. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her napkin, and she kept her gaze firmly on her plate, avoiding his eyes at all costs. She felt hyper-aware of his presence. Augustine, on the other hand, noticed her unusual silence right away. Usually, Anne would at least make small talk, or—if she was in a mood—argue with him. But today, she was eerily quiet, her cheeks slightly pink as she kept her head down. His brows furrowed in curiosity. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. The moment she heard his voice, her stomach flipped. Anne stiffened. Her grip on her fork tightened as she barely nodded, focusing on the food she wasn’t even eating. "Are you feeling okay?" He leaned slightly forward, trying to catch her eyes. She hummed in response. Augustine tilted his head slightly as he studied her. "Anne, are you ignoring me?" "No," she muttered quickly, her ears turning red. His curiosity deepened. "Then why won’t you look at me?"

Chapter 42: The wet dream

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