By the time dinner concluded, night had fallen deep and thick over Hamburg.

Arabella was assigned to the bedroom Frederick had occupied as a child—a room  connected to a study and a bathroom, featuring a pristine infinity pool on the terrace. Frederick himself was staying in a guest room downstairs.

Back in the room, Arabella opened the velvet box to admire the brooch, pinning it to her dress.

Despite the gift, her mood remained dry and unsettled. Daisy's words haunted her. Am I really just a hick? Will Frederick marry someone else?

She went into the bathroom to wash up. The space was minimalist—cool grey tones and a clinical sense of order that stood in stark contrast to the ornate luxury of the Herheid Estate in Munich.

Arabella stared at the massive shower stall in confusion. There was no visible shower head, only four unlabelled bottles in a niche and two black cylinders embedded in the wall. She studied them for a moment and gave one a twist.

A waterfall of ice-cold water plummeted from the ceiling, drenching her instantly. Shivering and panicking, she couldn't figure out how to turn it off and eventually scrambled out of the stall, dripping wet.

Her bad mood curdled into anger. She felt the over-engineered shower was mocking her for being a "peasant."

She grabbed her phone and dialed Frederick. The moment he picked up, she burst out, "Frederick, I hate the shower here!"

Frederick was in the middle of a video conference with executives from the New York headquarters. Hearing her petulant fury, he frowned almost imperceptibly, gave a quick instruction to his secretary, and exited the meeting.

"The shower?"

"Yes!" Arabella was shaking from the cold. "I'm not washing here anymore. I want to go home!"

Frederick took off his glasses and stood up. "You didn't know how to use it? I'm just downstairs."

Arabella couldn't admit she didn't want him to think she was a hick. "I know how to use it," she lied stubbornly. "I hate you."

The sudden "I hate you," accompanied by the sound of rushing water over the line, made Frederick's heart tighten.

After a pause, his voice turned deep with a note of warning. "Do not say that again, Aerona."

Arabella sensed his anger, and her grievance exploded into a shout. "Now you're being mean to me! I don't want you to be my Daddy anymore!"

Her childish words were sharp enough to draw blood. Frederick didn't respond, his expression cold as he strode up the stairs, his tailored suit trousers highlighting the long muscles of his legs.

The phone went quiet, leaving only rustling background noise. Arabella's temper vanished as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a sinking sense of insecurity. She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but her pride kept her from apologizing immediately.

"Why aren't you saying anything... you hate me too?" she whispered into the phone.

Frederick had already reached the bedroom. He stood outside the bathroom door and answered softly, "You said you hated me and didn't want me to be your Daddy. I was reflecting on what I did wrong to make my Birdie so upset."

His warm voice acted like a spell, calming her instantly.

"As for hating you," Frederick continued, sensing her bated breath. "Birdie, I could never hate you."

Her distress evaporated. Fighting back tears, she said earnestly, "I take it back. I don't hate you. I was just angry."

"Open the door," Frederick said, a smile touching his lips. "I'm right outside."

Arabella heard the knock through the phone and in the room simultaneously. She rushed to the door and pulled it open.

The speed of her reaction caught Frederick off guard. He was met with her damp, smiling face and her bare skin, save for a matching set of powder-blue lace lingerie. Water droplets slid from her hair down her chest, grazing the tiny red mole on her left breast.

It was the first time he had truly seen her body.

She was slender and graceful, with skin as white as a pearl. The muscles in her arms, abdomen, and legs were tight and defined, while her curves were soft and radiant. It was a sight that made his blood hum.

The visual impact was overwhelming. Frederick stood with one hand holding his phone and the other in his pocket, his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought for his usual restraint.

He quickly stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, before landing a sharp smack on her bottom. "Can you put some clothes on before you open the door next time?"

"What if it hadn't been me?" he demanded.

Arabella only realized she was exposed once she felt the warmth of his jacket. Her cheeks and the spot he had smacked both burned red. However, she felt no shame. "It doesn't matter since it was you," she whispered, looking at his golden hair. "I'm not stingy like you are. I want to see you naked, but you won't let me."

Frederick felt a surge of frustration. He landed another heavy smack—his palm coming away damp from her skin.

He rolled up his sleeves, entered the shower, and adjusted the temperature to 39 degrees Celsius. Once he had set the "rainfall" mode, he gestured for her to come in.

His shirt became soaked through, clinging to the heavy definition of his chest and arms. Arabella stared at his wet, powerful frame and the veins tracing beneath his skin.

"I want to wash with you," she said.

"No, you don't," Frederick replied.

Arabella pouted and, in a fit of mischief, gave him a shove. Despite his massive, statue-like build, Frederick allowed himself to be moved, stumbling easily into the spray of the water.

Arabella once again felt a sense of doubt about her own strength. Are my hands really this powerful... how incredible? She recalled twisting Daisy Beaumont's arm until she was immobile and now she had moved Frederick.

Frederick just stood in the splashing water, inhaling the humid, warm air. He reached up to loosen his tie, then removed his vest, and finally began unbuttoning his shirt one by one.

As the tight lines of his body gradually emerged, Arabella watched, mouth agape in awe.

He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist; his eight-pack abs were sharp and robust, resembling a bow taut with power, with veins snaking beneath his skin in a display of raw danger. His body actually seemed at odds with his face—it was far too powerful—but looking closely at his sharp bone structure and deep-set eyes, she realized they were perfectly matched. 

Arabella's breath hitched as she stared without blinking; this was what he looked like without clothes. It was overwhelming; the pectoral muscles she usually loved to nuzzle were so solid and full they looked as if they could smother her.

Frederick crumpled his shirt into a mess and tossed it outside the shower before snatching the dazed Arabella and pulling her inside. His bulging chest muscles were instantly pressed against her nose.

Arabella felt dizzy. In the next second, Frederick firmly gripped her mischievous hand and pressed it against the front of his suit trousers.

"Come, sweetheart," he murmured, holding her hand in place. "Let Daddy feel just how strong your hand really is.".