Simon Hawthorne’s expression revealed nothing; it was calm and consistently indifferent. Peyton Joyce believed she understood him fairly well. Because of this, she thought, "No, Simon couldn’t possibly have any feelings for Zoe Lancaster."
From childhood to adulthood, he had always been a highly anticipated figure in high society. With his exceptionally handsome looks and prestigious status, countless socialites willingly lowered their pride to flock to him. There was certainly no shortage of women more beautiful than Zoe. Yet, who among them had ever managed to inch even the slightest bit closer to his heart?
Besides, Zoe was merely the product of a scheme orchestrated against him by a mistress of the Hawthorne family. Given his immense pride, why would he ever treat Zoe with any special regard? This was merely Peyton’s speculation. But she was a woman, after all. Subconsciously, she couldn’t help but compare herself to a competitive rival standing on the same playing field, desperately seeking a definitive answer.
Simon slightly shifted his hand from Peyton’s grasp. Seemingly oblivious to the woman’s hopeful gaze, he reached over to adjust the pillows behind her back. "There’s no need for questions like this. We both know the answer, don’t we?"
Peyton breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Did this mean... he definitely didn’t care about Zoe?
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Ryan Hawthorne walked in through the door. Seeing the seemingly harmonious pair by the bed, his lips curled into a faint smile. "I’ve been too busy these past couple of days and just got back from out of town. Peyton, how are you feeling? Mrs. Young mentioned you fainted earlier."
Upon seeing Ryan, Peyton zoned out for a brief moment before offering a soft smile. "It’s been a while, Ryan. I’m fine."
Ryan stepped forward and greeted Simon respectfully. "Simon."
Simon nodded. "How is the shipping business doing lately?"
Ryan casually picked up an orange for Peyton and replied with gentle politeness, "It’s going quite well. However, there have been some recent changes to the shipping routes, and quite a few people have been trying to exploit the loopholes to set sail. It was a hassle to deal with, which is why I’m back late. You don’t blame me, do you, Peyton?" He shifted his gaze back to her.
"I’m just glad you’re back," Peyton smiled warmly.
Ryan chuckled.
Simon raised his wrist to check his sleek, cool-toned watch. "You stay and keep her company. I need to go see Grandfather."
"Don’t worry," Ryan said with a smile.
Peyton’s gaze lingered reluctantly on Simon’s back until he disappeared from sight. Ryan didn’t miss her expression. He teased jokingly, "Peyton, is Simon the only one in your eyes now that you’re back? I’m still sitting right here next to you."
At his words, a faint blush crept onto Peyton’s cheeks, revealing a coy, feminine charm. She even panicked a little, her palm accidentally pressing onto Ryan’s thigh. "Stop talking nonsense."
Ryan glanced at the hand on his leg. The woman quickly pulled it away, seemingly unaware of anything amiss. He narrowed his eyes. "Your condition suddenly worsened. Was it because something is bothering you? Because of... Simon’s wife?"
Peyton froze for a moment. She unconsciously clenched her fists before finally shaking her head with a gentle smile. "No, it has nothing to do with her. It’s just my own failing health."
Ryan frowned. "You haven’t wronged anyone, and there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s Simon who—"
"Ryan!" Peyton cut him off before he could finish. Her expression tensed for a split second before relaxing. She reached out and patted his shoulder. "I know you have my best interests at heart, and I’m truly happy that you’re on my side. Let’s talk about something else. Do you have a girlfriend yet?"
Ryan’s gaze deepened as he looked at her. "Are you going to introduce me to someone, Peyton?"
Peyton laughed. "Alright, alright, I get it. You don’t want to date. Stop making fun of me."
Stepping out of the annex where Peyton resided, Simon made his way to the main hall. As soon as he entered, he was met with the strong, lingering scent of traditional herbal medicine wafting from the kitchen in the adjacent courtyard. It refused to dissipate, leaving him wondering just how many precious medicinal ingredients his grandmother had ordered to be tossed into the brew. Seeing Mrs. Young coming downstairs, Simon asked evenly, "Where is Mrs. Hawthorne?"
Mrs. Young was actually somewhat surprised. She knew a bit about Simon’s temperament. In truth, when he married Zoe Lancaster, none of the servants had secretly favored the union. They all thought it was a forced match built on mutual exploitation. Who knew how far they could go? It was highly likely they would just call it quits over personality clashes. They had even placed bets on how long it would take for an arrogant man like Mr. Simon to bring up divorce.
Yet, over two years had passed, and even with Peyton Joyce’s return, there hadn’t been the slightest rumor of a split. He consistently referred to Zoe as Mrs. Hawthorne in front of them, implicitly declaring to everyone that she was the rightful mistress of the Hawthorne family. This forced all the servants to maintain their bounds and never look down on Zoe. As servants of a prominent family, they naturally possessed at least this much situational awareness.
Mrs. Young gathered her thoughts. "Mrs. Hawthorne just went to your courtyard."
Simon nodded and turned to head in that direction. Watching his retreating figure, Mrs. Young began to feel uncertain. Just what kind of feelings did Mr. Simon have for Zoe? It was all too strange.
As Simon walked upstairs, he heard noises coming from the bathroom. His brows knitted tightly together as he strode straight toward the sound. Pushing the door open, he found Zoe draped over the edge of the toilet bowl, retching continuously. Her small, delicate oval face was sickly pale, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She looked incredibly pitiful, much like a wronged puppy. Her stomach churned violently.
He simply stood there, his fingertips rubbing against the door handle. His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Are you pregnant?"
It made sense. Whenever the mood struck him, he tended to do whatever he pleased and rarely wore protection. It was always Zoe who, right at the crucial moment, would pat his shoulder and remind him that there were condoms in the drawer, urging him to put one on. At other times... there were definitely instances where he had neglected it altogether.
Zoe looked up at him wearily and pulled a tissue to wipe her lips. In truth, she hadn’t thrown up anything; it was merely dry heaving. It was likely related to that bowl of herbal soup, which had irritated her stomach acid. Regarding Simon’s question, she stared into his eyes but couldn’t decipher his emotions. She could only reply, "Don’t worry. We’ve only done it a few times anyway, and regardless of whether you wore protection or not, I’ve taken the pills every time. It’s double security. I won’t put you in a difficult position."
Now that Peyton was back, it was even more impossible for Simon to allow her to bear his child. She had no desire to relive the humiliation of him personally bringing her the pills and reminding her to take them.
Seeing Zoe’s remarkably sensible and compliant demeanor, the gaze behind Simon’s glasses grew increasingly dark. The beauty mark beneath the outer corner of his eye accentuated his cold allure. "You certainly know how to speculate about my thoughts," he said coldly.
Zoe’s stomach was still upset, so she ignored Simon’s visibly unfriendly mood. "Could you talk to Grandmother and tell her to stop making this herbal soup for me? It doesn’t make sense for me to take birth control pills on your end, only to be forced to drink fertility tonics over here." All this back-and-forth was nothing but pure torture for her.
Simon frowned, tossing out a baffling question. "Did I ever tell you to take pills?"
For a moment, Zoe found it difficult to discern exactly which pills he was referring to.