Zoe Lancaster didn’t know when she had fallen asleep on the sofa.
Staying in one position for too long left her lower back aching and stiff. Yet her eyelids were far too heavy—likely due to the fever—and she simply couldn’t wake up.
In her slumber, it felt as though someone was gently lifting her into their arms. Even though she wasn’t awake, she seemed to sense a tenderness that seeped right down to her bones, making her eyelashes dampen with unshed tears.
She forced her eyes open.
Caught off guard, she instantly met a pair of deep, dark eyes. Her face was clearly reflected in them, as if she were the only person in his world from beginning to end. She faintly caught a fleeting glimpse of his tenderness toward her in that split second.
Zoe instinctively pushed against Simon Hawthorne’s chest. "I don’t need you to hold me."
Simon lowered his gaze and pressed his thin lips into a tight line. Ignoring her protest, he continued carrying her to the bed and laid her down. "I heard you’re angry."
He had naturally heard it from the servants.
Zoe turned her head to look out the window. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the dawn. Instead of answering, she countered with a question of her own. "Have you finished comforting Peyton Joyce?"
"She’s fine. There are plenty of people to take care of her at the Hawthorne Residence. You don’t need to worry about it." Simon seemed displeased that she had brought this up; a hint of impatience was hidden in his low, indifferent tone.
Zoe’s eyes flickered slightly as she looked at him with utmost seriousness. "Why wouldn’t I? She’s the apple of your eye. Besides, yesterday was practically trading my life for hers. If she isn’t doing well, then I’ve taken a loss."
Her tone was very calm, devoid of any discernible emotion. However, her words were far from pleasant. They carried hidden thorns. Yet, it had to be said that they were also the absolute truth.
A dark glint flashed through Simon’s eyes. He then fetched a pillow and placed it behind Zoe’s lower back, his tone betraying neither joy nor anger. "If you had trusted me yesterday and hadn’t acted on your own, I wouldn’t have let a single hair on your head get hurt."
Zoe’s eyelids twitched, and she nearly lost control of her expression. "Trust? How much trust should I have in a man who pushed me to the kidnappers as a hostage for the sake of another woman’s safety? Mr. Hawthorne, I was abandoned once. Am I supposed to just wait around to be abandoned a second time?" She paused, the corners of her lips pulling into a bitter smile as she finally failed to suppress the emotions she had been forcing down. "How pathetic would I have to be?"
"Zoe Lancaster." Because of her last sentence, Simon’s expression darkened considerably. The air pressure around him plummeted, creating an exceptionally intimidating aura. "Can you speak reasonably?"
"The truth is never pleasant to the ear. You’ll just have to put up with it, Mr. Hawthorne." Zoe turned her head away, no longer looking at him.
A slow crease formed between Simon’s brows. The woman kept her head turned away from him, her smooth, long black hair resting over her shoulder. Her side profile was as pale as snow, and all he could see were her long eyelashes trembling slightly, betraying a fraction of her true feelings.
He stayed silent for a moment before suddenly leaning in closer. He raised a hand, pinched her chin, and forced her face back toward him. Unsurprisingly, he met her dissatisfied gaze. The way she stared at him showed she was clearly angry.
She wasn’t lifeless and resigned to her fate like she had been yesterday, which inexplicably made him breathe a sigh of relief.
"I told you, I’m back. You can throw whatever tantrum you want, as long as it helps you vent your anger." His voice was naturally rich—pleasant, deep, and captivating. Whenever he spoke to her with such slow, patient deliberation, it always gave her an illusion. The illusion that... he loved her.
Zoe was dazed for a second, almost bewitched. But she quickly snapped back to reality. This sensation of being caught between fire and ice was driving her insane; she was on the verge of breaking under the torment.
Feeling as though she might cough up blood, she enunciated every single word, "Can we just... let each other go?"
She was tired. Once a person’s spirit broke, the things they once obsessed over seemed to lose their importance. The desire to escape bloomed within her. She had... loved too exhaustingly. She didn’t want to force herself anymore.
A violent storm seemed to brew in Simon’s eyes. He understood the underlying meaning of the woman’s words almost instantly. This made his expression turn as frigid as a layer of frost. With a ruthlessness akin to a demon, the grip on her chin involuntarily tightened. It took immense effort for him to rein in his temper, and his eyes were devoid of any warmth. "It’s time to change your dressing."
He did not answer her question. Instead, he took it upon himself to fetch the ointment and began removing her bandages with a cold face.
This pushed Zoe’s patience over the edge. She struggled against him. "I don’t need it! Simon, can you respect me? I said we should let each other go. It’s not like I can’t step aside and let you have what you want!"
"Don’t be delusional." The man’s voice was as cold as a sharp blade. He looked at her, his thumb slowly brushing inch by inch across her cheek. The gesture was deeply tender yet incredibly cruel, causing shivers to ripple through her body. He spoke deliberately, "Evie, since you provoked me, you should understand that the initiative and control are both in my hands. You don’t have the right to say no."
Zoe was stunned. Her entire body trembled. She felt suffocated and found his words utterly unbelievable.
She didn’t understand. What exactly was Simon thinking? Why was he so obsessed with this? He clearly didn’t love her! Yet he refused to let her live in peace!
Perhaps provoked by his utter disregard, she could no longer suppress her fury and struggled even more fiercely. "I don’t need your pity! Don’t touch me!"
"Don’t move. The wound is going to tear open." Simon frowned, showing no intention of stopping. He unwrapped the gauze on her arm with overbearing authority, yet his actions didn’t hurt her in the slightest.
Zoe couldn’t overpower his strength. In her sheer exasperation, she lost all restraint and raised her hand, slapping Simon hard across the face.
SLAP!
A crisp, resounding slap echoed through the room. Her strike knocked his head to the side, and a red welt bloomed on his fair cheek.
Zoe’s rationality returned to her. Her palm stung with a burning heat that shot straight to her heart, twisting it into a painful knot. She was practically consumed by panic, her chest heaving violently. "You..."
Simon lowered his eyelashes, masking his emotions, though the increasingly chilling aura around him was palpable. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the corner of his lip. When he lifted his gaze, a breathtakingly wicked charm rippled in his eyes.
"Zoe Lancaster, in the twenty-something years I’ve been alive, you are the only one who has dared to slap me," he said, his voice incredibly calm, void of joy or anger.
Zoe curled her fingers inward, a sudden tearing agony gripping her chest. She choked out, "Don’t push me."
Simon stared at her for a long time. So long that Zoe began to panic. Only then did he slowly lower his head and resume applying the ointment. "I’ve been tolerant enough with you. Can you just behave?"
His movements remained very light. He didn’t cause her even a fraction of pain; in fact, he was even more gentle and cautious than the doctors had been. She had thought he would explode in a rage. After all, he was the dignified Crown Prince of the Hawthorne Family, a man of noble birth and immense privilege. Yet, he had just been struck by a woman. If it had been anyone else... there might not even be bones left to bury.
But Zoe was absolutely determined. "I said I don’t want to see you. At least, not right now. We both need some time apart to calm down and think things through."
Simon stared deeply into her eyes. After a long while, he curled his lips into a cold sneer, mocking her with undisguised skepticism. "If you leave here, where do you plan to go? Where *can* you go?"
Zoe knew he was trying to back her into a corner. But right now, she truly couldn’t bear it anymore. She immediately grabbed her phone and dialed a number. "Jules, where are you? Can you come pick me up?"
The look in Simon’s eyes grew a few shades darker.
Jules Yates’s voice immediately turned frosty on the other end of the line. "Did that worthless husband of yours bully you?! That ungrateful bastard! I’m still in Country Y, but don’t be afraid, Buddy! I’ll send someone to rescue you from that hellhole!"
Jules was indeed a man of immense action. In less than half an hour, the doorbell rang.
When Zoe saw the person standing at the door, she froze. A storm also surged in Simon’s eyes.
At the doorway stood a tall, long-legged man in a black overcoat. His light gaze swept into the room, exuding an elegant yet reassuring presence. Looking at Zoe, he didn’t seem to find anything amiss, his demeanor calm and unhurried.
"Miss Lancaster, I am here to pick you up."