Chapter 67 You Are More Important Than Work
Sloane's POV
It was Jared.
I don't know how long he'd been sitting there, just quietly watching me. In the darkness, those eyes were frighteningly bright, like a lurking beast.
"Just now, whose name were you calling?" he spoke, his voice particularly clear in the silent night, carrying a hint of suppressed, dangerous tension.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Grayson." He said it for me, each word seeming to squeeze through his teeth, heavy with sourness and scrutiny.
I lowered my eyes, avoiding his examining gaze, my hands gripping the sheets beneath me tightly.
Those crazy, terrible guesses about the diary instantly flooded my mind.
I couldn't tell him.
The tension and hostility on Jared's face gradually crumbled under my sorrowful gaze.
He reached out and pulled me into his arms, that embrace burning hot and forceful.
He held me, his chin resting on top of my head.
I didn't resist, leaning into his solid chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. I was exhausted and needed somewhere safe to let my guard down, even if it was with him.He didn't ask anything more, just held me, like comforting a frightened child, his large hand gently stroking my back over and over.
Maybe his embrace was too warm, maybe I really had exhausted all my strength—in the latter half of the night, I actually fell into a deep sleep in his arms.
That sleep was dreamless until dawn.
When I woke up, Jared was already gone.
The room was filled with a faint aroma of food.
I walked out of the room to see him standing in the small kitchen, his back to me, still wearing that wrinkled shirt, making... fried eggs.
His movements were awkward and clumsy, completely at odds with his normally dominant, cold demeanor, yet strangely harmonious.
Hearing the sound, he turned around. Seeing me, a flash of discomfort crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual coolness. "You're up? Go wash up, food will be ready soon."
On the table sat simple white porridge and two fried eggs that he'd burned a bit.
I sat down and silently ate my porridge. Neither of us spoke.
This strange warmth and peace gave me the illusion that we were just an ordinary married couple.
Just then, his phone on the table suddenly vibrated.
The name flashing on the screen was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing all those unrealistic fantasies.
Aeneas Montclair.
Jared picked up his phone, glanced at the caller ID, his brow immediately furrowing, that face that had just softened now covered again with a layer of frost.
He looked at it once, then without hesitation cut off the call, placing the phone screen-down on the table, shutting out that unpleasant judgment from the Montclair family.
That face that had just softened was covered again with a layer of frost.
"Ignore him," he said, his voice cold and hard, as if convincing me, or perhaps convincing himself.
I looked at his tense jawline, and that little illusion about being an "ordinary couple" that had just risen in my heart instantly vanished.
Feeling bad for him, I said softly, "Your father... won't it affect your work?"
The moment I finished speaking, he looked up, those deep eyes locked tightly on me, as if trying to see through to my soul.
He spoke slowly, each word deliberate, his voice not loud but carrying an unprecedented solemnity.
"You're more important than work."
My heart felt like something had gently struck it, skipping a beat.
In this drowning sorrow, those words were like a weak but persistent ray of light, piercing through the heavy gloom, shining into the long-barren depths of my heart.
I lowered my eyes and silently continued eating my porridge, saying nothing more.
For the next few days, Jared didn't leave.
He seemed to have taken root in this small orphanage.
He would get up before dawn to prepare simple breakfast for me, even though those eggs were always burned.
He would help me sort through the director's belongings, and when my emotions collapsed, he would silently hand me a glass of warm water, or just quietly stand beside me.
He was like a silent mountain, using his own way to hold up a crumbling sky for me.
My mood gradually improved in this wordless companionship.
Though the huge emptiness in my chest still existed, at least those sharp, bleeding edges had been slowly smoothed by his clumsy tenderness.
At night, I would still wake from nightmares.
But each time, I would fall into a solid, burning embrace.
He would hold me tightly in his arms, like treasuring something lost and found, his chin resting on top of my head, using his steady heartbeat to drive away all my fear and anxiety.
We slept in each other's arms, like two hedgehogs warming each other in winter, carefully retracting our spines, greedily absorbing that tiny bit of warmth from each other.
That night, I didn't sleep well.
Half-asleep, I felt the mattress beside me dip slightly, then the warmth enveloping me withdrew.
Groggily, I opened my eyes, just catching sight of Jared silently getting out of bed, holding his faintly glowing phone, keeping his voice low as he quickly left the room.
He went to take a call.
I turned over, pulling the blanket higher, trying to fall back asleep.
But the cold spot he left behind was like a huge black hole, constantly reminding me of his absence.
Time passed minute by minute, and he still hadn't returned.
This late, whose call could it be? Was there some urgent company matter, or...
Keira's face, twisted with jealousy, suddenly appeared in my mind without warning.
My heart sank.
Could these days of warmth and companionship just be a passing fancy? Had he grown tired of the oppressive atmosphere here and gone to find Keira?
Once this thought emerged, I couldn't suppress it.
I suddenly sat up in bed and rushed out of the room without even putting on shoes, barefoot.
The living room was empty, the kitchen too.
I searched everywhere he might be, but couldn't find him anywhere.
A cold despair rushed from my feet to the top of my head.
Just as I was about to give up, I suddenly thought of something and pushed open the creaking back door. The cold night wind instantly rushed in, making me shiver.
Under the old locust tree in the backyard, there was indeed a tall figure.
It was Jared.
His back was to me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. The night wind ruffled his soft black hair, his form looking somewhat lonely in the cool moonlight.
I was about to approach when his voice carried over on the wind, clear and filled with suppressed fury that made me stop in my tracks.
"I'm saying this for the last time—stop interfering in my marriage."
It was Aeneas.