Chapter 25 Intentionally Making Noise
Sloane's POV
I crashed into his solid chest. Still shaken, I instinctively grabbed onto his shirt.
"Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" He looked down at me, his eyes full of undisguised panic and concern. The hand gripping my arm was trembling slightly.
But I caught a glimpse of Jared's lit phone screen.
A thought flashed through my mind like lightning.
Keira was watching.
Suddenly, I didn't want to struggle anymore.
Why should she always be the one putting on a show while I played the passive, pathetic audience?
My body went limp. I loosened my grip on his shirt and let myself fall into his arms, letting out a suppressed, pained moan.
I frowned, adding a fragile tremor to my voice. "Honey, my foot... it hurts so much."
Jared's body instantly tensed. Without a word, he scooped me up and carefully placed me back on the bed.
"Let me see." He knelt by the bed, holding my ankle, looking as tense as if I'd suffered some terrible injury.
I lowered my eyes, but kept watching Keira at the door.
Her face looked awful, like she was about to collapse. Gone was any trace of that gentle act she usually put on for Jared.
"Did you twist it just now?" He gently examined it while asking, his voice full of self-blame. "It's my fault for leaving my coat lying around."
I didn't answer. I just bit my lower lip, pretending to endure the pain, squeezing out a few tears from the corners of my eyes, trying to look as pitiful as possible.
I could see Jared was panicking, even forgetting he was still on the call with Keira.
"Don't worry, I'll get some ointment." He patted my leg reassuringly and got up to fetch the medicine box.
The moment he turned around, I clearly saw Keira turn and run off, unable to take it anymore.
For once, she didn't make a sound.
She must be furious.
A rush of vengeful satisfaction surged through me, and my tense nerves instantly relaxed.
Mission accomplished. I was too lazy to keep acting.
The pained expression vanished from my face. I sat up, my tone returning to its usual coldness. "No need, I'm fine."
Jared turned back with the ointment and froze at seeing my completely different demeanor.
He walked to the bed, his deep eyes locked on me, as if trying to read something from my face.
His stare made me uncomfortable. I shrank back, wanting to put some distance between us.
But he wouldn't let me retreat. He sat right on the bed, grabbed my ankle, placed my leg on his knee, squeezed out some ointment, and started to apply it.
"I told you I'm fine." I tried hard to pull my foot back.
"Don't move." His voice dropped to a whisper. His hand clamped around my ankle like a vise—I couldn't break free no matter how hard I tried.
The cool ointment was warmed by his fingertips as he rubbed it in, applying it to my ankle. His movements were gentle, with a strange tenderness, carefully avoiding the red marks he'd left earlier when he grabbed me.
I watched his focused profile. The dim bedside lamp cast a shadow across his straight nose. His long, thick lashes were slightly lowered. That serious look made it seem like he was handling some priceless treasure.
Looking at him, I found myself asking the question that had been weighing on my mind for so long.
"Jared, why... why do you treat me this way?"
I really didn't understand.
His hand paused mid-application. He looked up.
He stared at me for a long time—so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then I heard him say in a matter-of-fact, low, husky voice."Because you're my wife."
Those words made all my thoughts freeze.
Yes, I was his wife.
This should be the most intimate relationship in the world, yet hearing it from his mouth now felt like a massive joke.
He finished applying the medicine and carefully wrapped my ankle with gauze. Only after completing all this did he stand up, looking down at me from above, saying in a commanding tone. "Don't get your ankle wet for the next few days, and don't go out. Just stay home and rest."
I thought Jared was joking, but he was dead serious.
For three days, he didn't go to the office and didn't mention Keira once. He just stayed by my side constantly.
He would cook himself, making light meals, and when I was reading, he'd sit quietly beside me, staring at me with heavy eyes, as if I were some fragile object that could disappear at any moment.
This kind of surveillance made me uncomfortable all over.
It wasn't until the fourth day, when my ankle had completely healed, that he finally relented and allowed me to go out.
"Go to the supermarket and get some things. Be quick and come straight back," he said, standing in the entryway, helping me put on my coat while giving instructions.
I was too lazy to argue with him. I just wanted to breathe some fresh air outside.
Walmart was bustling with people, full of the sounds of everyday life.
I pushed the shopping cart, wandering aimlessly through the aisles, picking up groceries. This long-missed alone time gave my tense nerves a chance to relax a little.
But that peace was completely shattered by a sharp gunshot.
"Nobody move! Hand over your money!"
At the supermarket entrance, a man in a black mask was holding a gun, screaming hysterically.
Shelves were knocked over, products scattered everywhere, and the scene turned chaotic.
I wasn't far from the robber. My heart jumped into my throat, and I instinctively ran with the crowd toward the back of the store.
In the chaos, the robber seemed to be provoked by a security guard trying to fight back, and he pulled the trigger again.
The sound of the bullet cutting through the air pierced my eardrums. I didn't even see who it was aimed at—I just felt a huge force from behind as someone shoved me hard, trying to escape.
I lost my balance and fell forward onto the ground.
Sharp pain shot through the outer edge of my palm. I looked down instinctively and saw blood flowing from the side of my right hand, the warm liquid quickly staining the floor. My heart raced with panic.
Before I could react, someone's sneaker stepped hard on my injured hand.