"Zoe Lancaster." Simon Hawthorne steadied his emotions and reached out to grasp the woman’s shoulder. "Get up. Let’s talk."
But his palm was met with a scorching heat.
His movements froze.
He gently turned her over. Her eyes were shut tight, her forehead beaded with a fine layer of sweat. In the dim room, illuminated only by the faint glow of the courtyard landscape lights outside the window, her face was flushed with an unnatural red. His eyes flickered as he rested his large hand on her forehead.
Hot.
Burning hot.
She had a fever.
His expression darkened as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. What exactly were the servants in this house doing all day? No one had even noticed she was sick!
But just as he was about to take off her jacket, the woman began to tremble violently. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she murmured unconsciously, "Don’t... don’t do this to me..."
Her voice was dry and hoarse, as if she had been through an ordeal. Her entire body was tense, trapped in a state of extreme terror. She was burning up so badly that she had lost consciousness.
"Okay, okay. I won’t touch you. Relax," he coaxed. Even knowing she might not hear him, he unconsciously mustered his patience to soothe her thin, fragile back. A deep, startling tenderness swirled in his beautiful, elongated eyes.
Zoe gradually calmed down.
The tears on her cheeks hadn’t yet dried, and her eyelashes were still damp. Her fragility sent dull pangs of ache through his chest. His breath hitched as his long fingers wiped away the moisture. "What are you so afraid of?"
He received no answer.
After settling Zoe down, he called a servant upstairs. "Get the doctor over here. Do we have any fever-reducing medication in the house?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Simon’s brows furrowed deeply. He clenched his fists and corrected himself, "Never mind. Just bring me some ice towels."
Pregnant women couldn’t take fever-reducing medication. If he actually forced her to take it, she would raise hell.
Madam Carter brought the ice towels.
Simon personally wiped Zoe down, cooling her body little by little. A proud son of heaven like him had never needed to take care of anyone before. He was always the one placed on a pedestal. Yet now, he condescended to roll up his sleeves, carefully wiping away his wife’s sticky sweat, tirelessly and patiently changing the ice towels for her again and again.
Watching this scene, Madam Carter was suddenly filled with emotion. She wondered what exactly Mr. Hawthorne felt for his wife. What truly counted as love?
"Did anything happen to her today?" Simon asked in a cool tone, his movements never ceasing as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Madam Carter snapped back to reality and immediately replied, "No, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary."
Simon frowned thoughtfully. Then why did Zoe seem to be in such a terrible state? It was as if she had been severely frightened.
"Hmm. You may leave."
Madam Carter quietly exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.
An unknown amount of time passed. Finally, Zoe’s temperature temporarily dropped.
Simon slowly breathed a sigh of relief. He tucked her in, staring at her pale, translucent face in the light filtering through the window. His fingertips gently traced her brow bone, her eyelids, her cheeks, and finally, her lips.
He mapped out her features over and over again.
Resting his forehead gently against hers, his voice was hushed. "Evie, even if you don’t love me, even if you hate me... I accept it."
He left himself no way back. He was going to entangle himself with her until the bitter end.
Zoe stirred slightly. Her eyelashes fluttered imperceptibly.
She murmured softly in her unconscious state, "Mom... I miss you so much..."
Simon looked at her. It seemed this was the only time she ever truly let her guard down. Deep down, she was just a little girl who wanted to cry for her mother when she was hurt.
For some reason, seeing Zoe like this seemed to rip open a gash in his very soul.
After a long time, he squeezed her fingers. "Forget it. Why am I even mad at you?"
***
When Zoe woke up, she couldn’t hear much of anything; there was something pressing against her ears. She opened her eyes, only to realize she was no longer in the bedroom. Instead... she was inside an airplane cabin.
She was wearing noise-canceling headphones. After pulling them off, a man’s clear, detached voice floated over from beside her. "You’re awake?"
Turning her head, she saw Simon sitting next to her with his legs crossed. He wore a casual black shirt that accentuated his slender neck and prominent Adam’s apple. His side profile was bathed in the faint sunlight, looking breathtakingly flawless. He closed the book on his lap and cast a sidelong glance at her.
"Are you still feeling unwell anywhere?"
Zoe’s mind was blank for quite a while before she gradually regained her senses. "Where are we going?"
She recognized that this was Simon’s private jet.
"I’m sending you to a hidden location to lock you away for the rest of your life. No one will ever find you, and day and night, you’ll only be able to look at me." Propping his head up with one hand, he shot her an idle, nonchalant look.
Zoe frowned. "Have you lost your mind?"
Seeing that she didn’t believe him, he regretfully withdrew his gaze. "You don’t think I’m capable of doing that?"
Zoe took a deep breath, her emotions a tangled mess. She still couldn’t let go of the matter regarding the DNA test. "I don’t have the time to listen to your jokes!"
Seeing her getting a bit angry, he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"It was just a joke. Why so anxious?" Simon set down a French novel and replied mildly, "We’re going to Portellis."
Zoe was taken aback. "Portellis? Why? What are we doing in Portellis?"
"Didn’t you miss your mother?" He turned his head to look out the window. "I’m taking you to Portellis to clear your mind."
He had noticed that she had been in a terrible state lately. For no apparent reason, it left him feeling flustered and uneasy. He figured it would be best to get her away from that place of conflict for a while. Seeing her mother might improve her mood.
Zoe fell silent for a moment. Leaning weakly against the plush seat, she asked calmly, "Is this out of guilt? Do you think I’m going to cause a scene because Peyton Joyce is pregnant with your child?"
Was that why he was trying to make it up to her?
Hearing her words, Simon stared deeply into her eyes, his aura radiating an intentional, biting chill. "What do I have to be guilty about? Just as you said, on this matter, we’re even."
Zoe tapped her chest, forcing down the bitter ache rising within her. "You don’t need to worry. I don’t have any objections to whatever is going on between you two. Even if you asked me to take care of her, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. After all, I have to make myself worthy of the divorce settlement you’ve prepared."
She meant it sincerely. If she couldn’t resist, she would simply go with the flow. Wasn’t obedience and understanding exactly what he wanted from her?
"Zoe Lancaster."
Simon called her name calmly. Unlike his usual cold, distant tone, his voice carried a lingering, affectionate tenderness that inexplicably made her heart skip a beat.
He leaned in, pinching her chin between his fingers. His gaze was glued to her red lips, brimming with aggression. Before him, she had zero defenses; she was entirely under his control.
The man hooked an arm around her neck, refusing to let her retreat. Forcing her red lips against the corner of his mouth, he lightly and insolently bit down on her bottom lip. His eyes were as still as an unfathomable dark sea, and his voice was tender, yet chillingly demonic. "Even if I marry Peyton Joyce in the future—"
"You can still only be my woman."