Chapter 129 Do You Want Me to Hold You to Sleep?
Another small courtyard.
Hawk had Evelyn's clothes delivered. She threw them on carelessly and shuffled out.
The moonlight was like water, spilling over the elegant courtyard.
This was a hotel suite with a courtyard and pool design, extremely private.
The moonlight shone on his cold mask, giving off a faint metallic gleam.
Evelyn tilted her head to look at him, her mind uncontrollably flooded with memories of herself at the boxing gym, cheering for Number Seventeen every single time.
If only he really was Number Seventeen, how wonderful that would be.
She spoke softly, breaking the silence.
"Thank you for saving me again. In a few days, I'll be leaving Luminous City. I probably won't come back."
His deep eyes darkened slightly. He only let out a very soft "mm" from his throat, revealing no emotion.
Evelyn gathered her courage and pressed on, "Hawk, why are you helping me?"
He remained cold and indifferent, his voice flat, "Just happened to be convenient."
Evelyn's chest felt tight.
"I know you're not him, but I still want to thank you."
After speaking, she took a deep breath, turned around, and prepared to leave.
But somehow her foot slipped.
"Ah..." she cried out.
Hawk instinctively reached out to catch her. As a result, they both tumbled into the hot spring pool beside them.
Water splashed everywhere. Evelyn panicked and flailed around in the water.
An iron arm wrapped around her waist in time, steadying her. A hoarse voice sounded above her head, carrying a hint of helplessness.
"The water's shallow, stop thrashing."
Her hands were still uncontrollably groping around on him, trying to grab onto something to steady herself.
Suddenly, her small hand felt something oddly shaped and soft in his soaked pocket.
She instinctively pulled it out and looked at it in the hazy moonlight.
It was actually a velvet towel embroidered with a kitten pattern. Why did this towel look so familiar?
Hawk's expression changed dramatically. He snatched the towel from her hand, his movement somewhat rough, then strode out of the pool with his back to her.
Evelyn's eyes widened in shock, her whole body frozen.
This was the little cat towel she had thrown to Number Seventeen back then. She had chosen the pattern herself! It was identical!
So he really was Number Seventeen!
"Aren't you getting out?" He had his back to her, his tone cold, revealing obvious displeasure and panic.
But Evelyn acted as if she hadn't heard. Suddenly, she plunged down into the water.
Hawk's heart lurched violently. Without thinking, he turned around and jumped back in.
He grabbed her out of the water, his movements somewhat urgent.
Evelyn hung in his grip, soaking wet and bedraggled, yet shocked and delighted.
She looked at him, her voice trembling with tears.
"Hawk, you are Number Seventeen, aren't you? You're him! Otherwise, why would you have that little towel?"
Hawk stood dripping in the water, his expression unclear beneath the mask, only those eyes deep as a cold pool.
He looked at her for a long time before asking in a low, hoarse voice.
"Is he really that important?"
At this moment, Evelyn's tears could no longer be controlled. They rolled down in large drops, mixing with the pool water, impossible to tell salt from fresh.
She choked out, word by word, forcefully.
"Not important. Not important at all. I won't like him anymore."
After speaking, she took a deep breath, straightened up, shook off his hand, and prepared to step out of the pool.
But Hawk grabbed her wrist tightly.
He spoke quietly, his voice carrying a barely detectable tension, "The five million bodyguard fee—are you still paying it back?"
Evelyn's heart trembled violently.
So he was admitting he was Number Seventeen?
She stubbornly turned her head away, biting her lip, squeezing out a sentence through her teeth.
"No money!"
Hearing this, the corner of his lips curved into an extremely shallow arc, domineering and allowing no argument, "Then pay me back with yourself."
Before the words had faded, he pulled hard. Evelyn fell unprepared into his solid chest.
The next second, his kisses fell like an overwhelming storm, blocking all her unspoken cries and protests.
His movements were tender and lingering, yet carried an undeniable force.
Hawk's kiss was domineering and burning, as if he wanted to pour out all the longing and suppression from the depths of his heart.
He wanted to make love to her. He'd wanted to for so long!
This time, he broke through the boundaries.
His burning lips and tongue kissed over her snow-white skin, even those unhealed wounds, with tenderness, gently licking over them.
She gripped his clothes tightly, her body trembling slightly.
He lifted her up, pressed her against the edge of the pool, then inch by inch, consumed her completely.
The sound of water began to ripple rhythmically. Even the moon in the sky quietly hid deep in the clouds.
...
At the same time, Nicholas placed Emma on the large bed, then turned and walked out.
Her pajamas were laid out on the bed. Emma picked them up and headed to the bathroom to shower.
The bathroom carried a scent of osmanthus, mixed with a faint smell of blood. She noticed it.
When she came out, Nicholas had returned to the room, changed into loungewear, water droplets dripping from his hair.
"Are you hurt?" she asked casually, looking him up and down.
"No!" he denied.
Emma lay on the large bed, tossing and turning, feeling somewhat uneasy.
This bed was full of his scent.
But Nicholas didn't look at her. He went straight to the closet, took out a thin blanket, and tossed it on the long sofa.
His tall figure lay down on the sofa, his long legs casually bent, his large frame looking somewhat cramped.
Under the light, the lines of his profile were especially clear—high nose bridge, tight jawline.
"What, you still want me to come over and hold you while you sleep?" He glanced at her coolly, his voice carrying a hint of mockery.
Emma's cheeks burned. She said stubbornly, "Who cares!"
She paused, couldn't help asking, "How did you know someone would come up the mountain? And set up an ambush in advance?"
Nicholas gave a cold laugh, "They went to all that trouble to blow up the castle—was it just to set off some fireworks? Luring the tiger from the mountain—if the target wasn't you, was it me?"
Emma froze.
"Wasn't it your enemy?" she muttered quietly.
He scoffed, "I've been here for years without incident. Ever since you showed up, how many times have I been attacked? Do the math—how much more money do I have to spend to keep your little life safe?"
His tone, his expression—the perfect image of a profit-driven businessman.
Emma suddenly laughed. Nicholas playing the role of Mr. West was truly masterful. The Oscars owed him a golden statue.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she smiled, "Don't worry, my ex-husband has plenty of money. He'll pay you back every cent. When the time comes, Mr. West, don't turn it down."
Nicholas was momentarily speechless. His expression changed, and he turned away angrily, no longer looking at her.
The night deepened. A cold breeze blew into the room.
Emma dozed off in a daze, her breathing gradually becoming steady.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, Nicholas's head began to throb with severe pain, as if it would tear him apart. He quickly jumped off the sofa and rushed into the bathroom.
The commotion was rather loud, waking Emma.
She heard sounds of pain, saw light from the bathroom, then got out of bed and walked over.
"Mr. West, are you not feeling well?" She knocked lightly on the door.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me." His voice, trying hard to stay low, sounded somewhat strained.
Suddenly, she heard coughing, then smelled a heavy scent of blood.
"Mr. West, where are you hurt? Open the door."
Her instinct told her something was wrong with him.
Nicholas shouted at her through the door, "Get out."
He regretted bringing her into the room.
Emma was startled. "Are you injured? Why is there a smell of blood?"
She wanted to find out. Suddenly, Nicholas came out like a raging beast and grabbed her by the throat.
Emma was shocked, slapping hard at his solid arm. Her small face turned bright red before he slowly came to his senses.
He quickly let go of her, staring dazedly at his damned right hand—he had almost hurt her.
A surge of violent energy had risen just now, making him lose control.
Emma coughed twice, gasping for air.
He turned to close the door, locking himself in the bathroom with self-reproach. The sound of breaking glass startled Emma badly.
She anxiously knocked on the door, "Mr. West, open the door."
"Get out!" he shouted again.
Emma didn't dare knock again, but she stayed by the door, not daring to leave.
It wasn't until the middle of the night that Nicholas finally calmed down. He opened the door to find Emma asleep leaning against it.
He tenderly stroked her face, then gently picked her up and placed her on the bed, his movements as gentle as if afraid of disturbing some treasure.
He held her in his arms. The familiar touch made his heart fill with bitterness.
He lowered his head and kissed her smooth forehead again and again, his movements tender.
The night was a bit cold.
In her sleep, Emma felt a warm source and instinctively moved toward the heat, her small head nuzzling against his chest, finding a comfortable position.
He held her tightly, his heart filled with heartache and self-reproach.
Four days had passed since he was poisoned. He didn't know that his life had already begun its countdown.
...
The next day, when Emma woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the gaps in the curtains.
The room was empty. He was nowhere to be seen.
In the air, there still seemed to linger the faint, crisp scent from his body.
Emma's heart skipped a beat.
She rushed into the bathroom and saw the vanity mirror was broken, with bright red bloodstains still on it—clearly from his self-harm.
Why had he been so abnormal last night, suddenly going crazy? Even choking her neck?
Could it be related to James returning to the lab? She had to talk to him.
She picked up the room phone and dialed James's number.
Since coming to Luminous City, she had turned off her cell phone because Elvin had powerful hackers around him who could track her location at any time.
The phone rang several times before someone answered.
"James, are you okay?"
"Emma, what's wrong?" James's voice was as warm as always.
"James, what are you doing now? You were in such a hurry to get back to the lab—did something happen?" she probed calmly.
James was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I've been away for several days. If I don't go back, Little Cloud will starve to death."
Little Cloud was a little goldfish her teacher kept, pure white all over. A fish alone in a 300-square-meter pond would starve to death?
She suspected he was making it up, but wasn't in the mood to argue with him.
After a pause, she got straight to the point, "James, did something happen to Mr. West?"
James was silent for a few seconds, then asked back, "Emma, do you really like him?"
He continued, "How about we switch targets?"