Zoe was taken aback by the question. She looked straight into the man’s deep, dark eyes. There was not a trace of a joke in them; his attitude was completely serious.
She couldn’t quite fathom what he meant by that.
She instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but Simon held it in a firm grip. "If you think I don’t care about you enough, or that I don’t value you, what do you think I should do to at least meet your bare minimum?"
Zoe’s mind was in a whirlwind. She averted her gaze, finally able to speak normally. "I didn’t mean it like that. What I just said was merely stating facts. I’m not demanding that you do anything."
She figured he had probably felt a pang of pity because she had said no one loved her.
"I’m also expressing my true thoughts. I want to hear what’s on your mind," Simon said, his voice unhurried, carrying his usual aloof elegance. Perhaps due to his nature, it was always difficult to guess what lay in the depths of his heart.
Zoe fell silent.
She was no longer a naive girl with starry-eyed fantasies. She knew perfectly well that speaking her mind would be pointless. The one in Simon’s heart was Peyton. Any demands or extravagant hopes she brought up would only be forcing his hand.
Besides, since he had loved Peyton so deeply, how could he not know how to love someone and treat them well? There was no need for him to ask.
She turned her head away, her tone remaining light and breezy. "What’s the point of talking about this? I owe you for getting injured. I’ll find a way to repay you later."
With that, Zoe managed to change the subject.
Simon furrowed his brows slightly as he looked at her. He had only asked because he genuinely wanted to know what she was thinking. Since she was avoiding the topic and refusing to answer, he couldn’t exactly pry her mouth open and force it out of her.
Instead, he vigorously ruffled her hair. Seeing her smooth black locks turn into a messy bird’s nest—and successfully eliciting an annoyed glare that revealed her prickly side once again—he finally curled his lips in satisfaction.
"Zoe, you just missed a good opportunity."
Zoe slapped his right hand away. "Does it not hurt anymore? Then stop playing the victim."
Simon leaned down, pinching her chin to carefully study her face. "Since you said you want to repay me, how about cashing in a little interest right now?"
His gaze was glued to her lips. His intention was glaringly obvious.
Zoe was utterly speechless. Were men never able to forget about this sort of thing? He was severely injured and still had the mood for it?
She scrutinized him seriously before asking, "Even when a man is injured, his ’hardware’ still operates independently?"
Instantly understanding what she meant, Simon felt a flash of surprise at where this woman had picked up such bizarre descriptors. She was essentially saying that his chassis was battered, but his little brother was still raring to go. Hence, his "hardware operating independently."
Deciding not to deny it, his large hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close. His thin lips bit down on hers in a punishing kiss before softening into a lingering, tender caress. "Yeah. Even if I drop dead, this part stays rock hard."
Zoe shrank back in dissatisfaction. "Don’t jinx it with such macabre talk!"
Seeing her look faintly angry, Simon—for reasons unknown—suddenly smirked. The coldness in his eyes dissipated, melting into a pool of gentleness. "Alright, no more talking. Let’s put this mouth to good use."
Bending down, he caged her in his arms. The kiss wasn’t aggressive. Instead, it was gradual and unhurried—an inch-by-inch exploration of licks and pecks, as if he were facing his most cherished treasure. It held a profound, meaningful tenderness.
Zoe’s heartbeat lost its rhythm. Simon rarely kissed her this gently.
So much so that she dug her nails fiercely into her palms. Despite the sharp pain, she still couldn’t resist the affection he was pouring into her. Her entire body went limp as he held her in his embrace.
It was too agonizingly sweet.
Gasping for air, she murmured, "Since when is a kiss an acceptable form of repayment..."
Simon stared at her with dark, bottomless eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "If a kiss doesn’t count as repayment, then we can add a few more positions in bed."
Zoe’s eyes went wide.
Even when saying such blush-inducing, dirty things, Simon maintained his aloof, aristocratic demeanor. It was hard to associate him with such vulgar words, but this very contrast made it inexplicably brimming with sexual tension.
Flushed with embarrassment, she immediately turned hostile and tried to shove him away. "I can’t be bothered to argue with you. Let go of me, someone’s going to see us."
Seeing her refuse to cooperate, Simon half-pushed, half-pinned her against the headboard. "Zoe, I’m giving you a choice. You can either cooperate obediently, or we can do something far more in-depth."
Zoe instinctively glanced down at his crucial area. The hospital gown was loose, yet the pitched tent was unmistakable. Her heart pounded wildly, and her face flushed crimson.
Simon stroked her head with nonchalant ease, his tone still slow and deliberate. "Your husband is currently holding back very, very hard."
Zoe was completely at a loss for words.
Hearing him refer to himself as her husband made her feel hot all over, overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Steeling her nerves, she simply shut her eyes.
Seeing her brace herself like she was marching to the firing squad, Simon offered a silent smirk. He delivered a restrained yet fierce bite to her lips. Then, he released her and walked straight to the bathroom.
If he kept going, he really wouldn’t be able to stop. He was practically about to explode.
Zoe’s chest heaved heavily. She touched her burning cheeks and looked toward the bathroom. She didn’t know how he was going to handle his situation, and with the door closed, she couldn’t hear a sound. After a long moment, she covered her face with a pillow, trying to smother the bizarre heat radiating from her skin.
Outside the hospital room door, Peyton stood rigidly, feeling ice-cold all over.
Her blood seemed to have congealed, plunging her into a freezing abyss. It felt like a fate worse than death. She stumbled and leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling violently.
Every single scene that had just unfolded inside... she had witnessed it all.
Simon... most of the time, he seemed to show Zoe a cold face, but in private, he was inexplicably clingy. He loved to tease her and was incredibly intimate with her.
Her soft, gentle eyes grew misty. Clenching her jaw, she ultimately didn’t push the door open. Instead, she turned and hurried away.
She returned to the Hawthorne Residence in a despondent daze. Right as she arrived, she ran head-on into Ken Lowell, who had just returned from out of town.
Seeing Peyton, Ken’s usually strict and unsmiling face broke into a warm grin. "Peyton, what are you spacing out for? Are you in a bad mood?"
Peyton snapped out of her trance. Startled by the sight of the older woman, she blurted out, "Mrs. Lowell..."
Ken stepped forward and grasped her hands. "Why are your hands so cold? Are you feeling unwell? You look terrible."
An uncontrollable thought leaped into Peyton’s mind. Her eyes flickered, and then tears pooled in them. "I-I’m fine. It’s not me..."
Ken frowned. "What exactly happened? Tell me, did Simon mistreat you?"
Peyton shook her head, tears blurring her vision. She said in a pained voice, "Mrs. Lowell, please don’t ask me. I can’t say..."
"Peyton, do you want to make me sick with worry?" Ken gripped her shoulders, forcing the younger woman to look her in the eye.
Peyton froze for a second, then finally steeled herself and said, "Simon was injured and hospitalized. He was stabbed. It was..."
Ken’s expression changed drastically. "Something this serious and he hid it from the family?! Who did this?!"
Lowering her head and acting as if she were reluctantly forced to reveal the truth, Peyton murmured, "It was... Zoe’s family."