Somerset Gardens.
The atmosphere had nearly dropped to the freezing point. The servants cowered in the back, not daring to step forward in fear of being caught in the crossfire.
Simon Hawthorne sat in his chair, his eyelashes lowered as he rubbed the pinky ring on his left hand. His flawlessly handsome face held zero warmth or expression, making it impossible to guess his thoughts. The oppressive silence in the room was suffocating.
The doctor finished examining Peyton Joyce. "It’s nothing serious, just a cold. Rest for a couple of days and make sure not to catch another chill, and you’ll be fine."
Half-leaning against the sofa, Peyton nodded weakly. "Thank you for your trouble, Doctor."
The doctor glanced at Simon. "Mr. Hawthorne, have the Madam’s dressings been changed? Would you like me to go up and check on her wounds now?"
At these words, the servants exchanged panicked glances. They lowered their heads, not daring to breathe.
Simon finally reacted. His pupils were like pools of ice water. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke in a hoarse, fierce voice. "No need. She is perfectly fine right now."
She had been taken away by Miles Yates and had dedicated people caring for her.
No matter how obtuse the doctor was, he sensed that something was wrong. He quickly packed up his equipment and took his leave.
Peyton looked at Simon and noticed he had already walked over to the wine rack and opened a bottle. "Simon, it seems Zoe and President Yates have quite a good relationship. Hasn’t Zoe told President Yates that she is married?"
After a pause, she frowned slightly, as if she disapproved. "President Yates seems to have crossed the line."
In her eyes, whether a boundary could be crossed depended entirely on whether the person involved allowed the opportunity. Her words also served as a subtle hint.
Simon’s movements paused slightly. He then downed the wine in his glass in one gulp. His voice was cold and stern, concealing a trace of impatience. "Zoe Lancaster doesn’t have those kinds of intentions. She’s just angry and rebelling against me."
Peyton was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected Simon to trust Zoe so much. She simply stood up and walked over to him. Watching him casually down glass after glass of wine, she said worriedly, "Stop drinking. It’s bad for your health."
Simon’s throat worked. "I’m fine. Go rest."
Peyton, still anxious, reached out to snatch the wine glass from his hand. However, the man’s strength was too great. Her tug failed to move the glass, and instead caused more than half of the wine to splash out, staining his white shirt red.
The soaked fabric clung to him, faintly revealing the outline of his abdominal muscles underneath.
Peyton’s face instantly flushed. Looking somewhat flustered, her eyes flashed with an uncontrollable hint of desire. "I’m sorry, Simon, I didn’t mean to. You should go change your clothes."
Simon had lost his mood to drink anyway. His mind was preoccupied with the expression Zoe had when she left. Perhaps due to the alcohol, his head felt heavy. He couldn’t suppress the surging irritation that made his chest feel so tight he could barely breathe.
He stood up. His long fingers undid the top buttons of his collar as he walked away. "Mhm."
Watching the man head upstairs, Peyton stared at his back with an unfathomable expression. Her fingers tangled together unconsciously, as if she were plotting something.
About a minute later, she turned and headed upstairs as well. She didn’t forget to stop and glance down at the servants. Pursing her lips, her eyes flickered as she ordered, "None of you need to come up."
The servants were startled but immediately understood. They were all adults; how could they not know what Miss Joyce meant?
They had actually heard the rumors long ago. Mr. Hawthorne had a childhood sweetheart—an unforgettable first love—whom he couldn’t be with due to some past events. Later, he was forced to marry his current wife to ward off bad luck. Now that his first love had returned, the possibility of the two of them rekindling their old flame was naturally very high.
Moreover, Mr. Hawthorne was currently in a moment of frustration. A lone man and a lone woman in the same room, especially when the woman was his first love—wouldn’t that spark ignite a blazing fire at the slightest touch?
The servants exchanged knowing looks. Silently sighing about how wild the wealthy could be, none of them dared to set foot on the second floor.
Arriving at the bedroom door, Peyton pushed it open and walked in.
She caught sight of Simon standing by the bed. He had just undone a few buttons and looked up toward the door at the sound of her entry.
Looking at the face that had haunted her dreams for years, Peyton couldn’t help the tremble in her heart. She walked over step by step until she stood in front of him. Tilting up a small, pitiful face, she looked at him. "Simon, are you in a bad mood?"
As she spoke, she reached out to help him undo his remaining two buttons. Her voice was gentle and enticing. "When you’re in a bad mood, I feel unhappy too. Let me help you, okay?"
Simon stared at her, his expression unreadable. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at her pale fingers lingering on his shirt. Raising his hand, he grabbed her wrist.
Jules Yates’s apartment was centrally located in a high-end residential complex. The sprawling top-floor penthouse offered a bird’s-eye view of the bustling commercial district nearby.
As soon as they entered, Zoe felt her limbs turn weak, rendering her barely able to stand. She forced herself to walk over to the sofa and sit down. Looking at Miles Yates gratefully, she said, "Thank you for your trouble today, President Yates. I’m sorry for dragging you into such a messy situation."
She had no other choice. The inner torment was too much, making it impossible for her to stay at Somerset Gardens for another minute. Every time she saw Simon, she uncontrollably remembered how he had unhesitatingly chosen to release Peyton.
Miles went to pour a glass of water and brought it over. He sat diagonally across from her, strictly observing the boundaries of propriety. "It’s warm water. Drink some; your voice is hoarse."
Zoe nodded. Holding the cup, she took small sips. Her eyelashes fluttered incessantly, mirroring the chaos in her heart.
Miles gazed at her for a long time before his Adam’s apple shifted slightly. "What exactly is going on between you two?"
Zoe didn’t answer directly, only saying, "It’s very complicated. I can’t explain it clearly in a short amount of time."
After all, their marriage wasn’t built on pure love, so it seemed he wasn’t wrong for choosing the person he loved. However, humans were emotional creatures. She understood everything perfectly, yet she still felt hurt—hurt by her own worthlessness in his eyes.
Miles frowned, a trace of complexity hidden in his long, narrow eyes. After a long while, he said, "Life is long. You need to think carefully about everything and make decisions that are responsible to yourself. He may not be the right man for you."
His words rang true. Zoe understood what he meant.
Miles had likely seen through the fact that Simon didn’t love her at all. That was why he tried to dissuade her so tactfully, taking care to save her face.
"Thank you for your concern, President Yates. I will handle it properly," she replied. It wasn’t appropriate to tell him too much, and she knew she needed to maintain boundaries. Miles was only doing his best to help her for the sake of Jules. She was reluctant to expose all her scars to him.
Miles wasn’t oblivious to Zoe’s defensiveness. He also understood that some things had to be taken step by step. He didn’t want to scare her off.
"Alright, rest well. I’ll make you some porridge before I leave." Seeing how weak she was, he couldn’t help but feel worried.
Zoe didn’t refuse; she had no strength left. Half-sprawled on the sofa, she felt utterly drowsy from her lingering fever.
When Miles finished cooking the porridge and came out, he saw that the woman had already fallen asleep. Her brows were furrowed in her slumber, as if she were burdened by endless troubles.
He thought that she must have suffered a great deal of grievances.
Frowning silently, he took a blanket from the cabinet, walked over, and bent down to gently drape it over her. Just as he pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, the woman’s hand suddenly grabbed his fingers.
Her grip was tight, soft, and burning hot.
That little flame shot straight up to his heart. It caused his eyes to tremble, and his body went so stiff that he completely forgot to react.