Chapter 299: She Doesn't Need Him Anymore

Chapter 299: She Doesn't Need Him Anymore

In the basement bedroom, silver candlesticks held snow-white candles, their dim yellow glow filling the cramped space.

Sophia tossed the used acupuncture needles into the trash bin and let out a weary sigh.

Who would have thought? Yesterday she'd treated John, and today Andrew. These two brothers—neither one of them healthy.

She tugged Andrew's blanket higher up his chest. "Get some sleep. I'll make you something to eat."

Andrew showed no sign of drowsiness. His amber eyes appeared deep black in the dim light. "You think what you cook is edible?"

Sophia fell silent.

Michael couldn't help but laugh. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Sophia said gratefully. He affectionately pinched her cheek, showing no trace of complaint.

After asking where the kitchen was, Michael left.

Nate seized the opportunity to step forward, clutching the notebook he never went anywhere without. "Andrew, would you be willing to do a psychological evaluation?"

Andrew didn't answer Nate's question. His gaze remained fixed on Sophia, as if afraid everything before him was merely a hallucination—that if he blinked, she might vanish.

Only then did Sophia remember to make introductions. "Nate is my friend and my therapist. Let him do a psychological assessment... okay?"

Her tone carried an almost pleading quality.

Andrew slowly withdrew his gaze and glanced at Nate. "Fine."

Sophia helped Andrew sit up and lean against the headboard, then carefully arranged his blanket. "I'll wait outside and make you some coffee."

"Mm." Andrew watched her leave with an infatuated, dazed expression.

He never dared dream of a day when Sophia would care for him with such gentle tenderness.

The old him had been someone she feared and loathed—a cold-blooded "god" in her eyes who saw all living beings as insignificant as ants.

Nate keenly caught the emotion in his eyes and timely offered information: "Sophia's condition has improved significantly. She's been worried about you this whole time—even cried over it a few times."

Andrew froze, looking at Nate with surprise, as if using his eyes to confirm whether these words were true.

Nate nodded slightly in affirmation, then added, "According to Michael, Sophia isn't afraid of dogs anymore. Last week when she visited the Johnson family and encountered her brother's Samoyed, she showed no adverse reaction whatsoever."

"Is that so?" Andrew lowered his eyes, murmuring softly, "That's good. She can live a normal life now."

No more nightmares. No more emotional numbness. She was "normal" now.

"You can be too," Nate said flatly. "She wants you to be. She wants you to be part of her life going forward—otherwise she wouldn't have risked flying here to find you."

Andrew's expression flickered with obvious emotion at Nate's words.

How could he not want to stay by her side?

But the Sophia of today was no longer the little girl who used to chase after him.

She was confident, powerful, capable of breaking through any obstacle.

She didn't need him anymore.

Nate accurately judged his thoughts and flipped open his notebook. "Even the strongest people have emotional needs. Lately, because of you and John, her emotional state has been very unstable. She has feelings for you both and needs reciprocation. Otherwise..."

Andrew suddenly looked up. "Otherwise what?"

"Excessive worry affects physical health," Nate said. "Just like what's happening to you now."

Andrew pressed his lips together, his low voice carrying a hint of coldness. "Weren't you going to do a psychological test? Let's begin."

 

Outside the door, Sophia finished making coffee and sat at the long table waiting. Her fingertips unconsciously tapped the surface as her eyes wandered around the dim basement.

Western European décor. Pure silver items everywhere. An array of silver knives lined up neatly on the mantelpiece, their blades glinting coldly in the candlelight.

Such a small, hidden space—yet still very much Andrew's style.

But the air didn't circulate well here. With the fireplace burning and the heating on, the metallic stench of blood was amplified unbearably. Despite the ventilation system, prolonged exposure left one feeling oxygen-deprived.

So this was where he had to retreat to for a few days each month—a place that wasn't comfortable at all. He'd worked so hard to hide his weakness deep away.

Just like this basement: dark, suffocating, never seeing daylight.

"Not done yet?"

Michael entered carrying a bowl of beef porridge. Seeing Sophia sitting alone, he knew the psychological assessment was still ongoing inside.

He sat down beside her and set down the tray. The chicken soup in the bowl rippled slightly from the motion.

"There's nothing but beef and chicken here, so I just made some simple chicken soup."

"That's more than enough." Sophia reached for Michael's hand with a hint of coquettishness. "Michael, I'm so lucky to have you."

"You're only realizing how great I am now?" Michael teased deliberately, grasping her hand—slightly damp from the excessive heat—and gently wiping her palm with a tissue.

Sophia didn't answer directly. Instead, she brought up her conversation with Amelia from a few days ago. "The other day Amelia asked me if there was ever a moment when I impulsively wanted to marry you."

"Oh?" Michael looked up at her, surprised and curious. "What did you say?"

"No." Sophia smiled as she spoke, earning a wounded look from Michael. Then she continued, "Wanting to marry you isn't an impulsive decision. It's a conclusion I've reached through spending so much time together."

Michael's pupils trembled. His gaze instantly softened like spring lake water, and the upward curve of his lips could no longer be suppressed.

He lowered his head, continuing his ministrations, his voice bright and gentle. "I know. I've always been certain of your feelings. What I've been waiting for is the right moment—when you feel it's time to get married."

Sophia withdrew one hand and fished two slightly melted candies from her pocket. She unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth, then offered the other to him. "This candy's pretty sweet."

Michael paused, then curved his lips into a smile. He leaned in and kissed her, his tongue deftly stealing the fruity sweetness from her mouth.

"The one in your mouth," he murmured, "is my favorite flavor."