Chapter 72 Royal Gratitude
Sloane's POV
Jared was unusually patient. He just held the phone, responding in a low voice, "Grandma, I got it."
After hanging up, he walked over, looked at me with a softness in his eyes I'd never seen before, "Grandma wants you to visit her when you have time."
Days slipped by in this strange mix of calm and sweetness.
Jared seemed like a different person.
I was wrapped in his clumsy yet sincere tenderness. My long-frozen heart gradually melted in this day-after-day warmth, and I even began to feel, perhaps inappropriately, some hope for our future.
That evening, he had an important business dinner and came home very late.
I heard the car engine downstairs and threw on a jacket to go down.
He pushed through the door, reeking of alcohol, his steps a bit unsteady, but his eyes still clear.
"Why aren't you asleep?" Seeing me, his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, his tone carrying a hint of reproach.
I said nothing, walked up to him, naturally took his suit jacket as he removed it, and helped him upstairs, just like I'd done countless times before.
I ran him a bath, then went downstairs to make honey water. When I returned to the bedroom, he'd already finished washing up, wearing only a towel around his waist, leaning against the headboard, his short black hair still dripping water.
I walked over, picked up a towel, and instinctively moved to dry his hair. He suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled hard, and I fell into his burning embrace.
His body still carried the damp heat from the shower, mixed with a faint smell of alcohol, creating an intensely aggressive masculine presence that held me captive.
"Sloane," he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled, carrying the hoarseness of alcohol and a barely noticeable vulnerability, "why... are you so good to me?"
My heartbeat skipped.
Why was I good to him?
I was silent for a moment, then finally just patted his back gently and gave the most honest answer in the calmest tone, "Because you're my husband."
I felt his arms around me suddenly stiffen.
The head buried in my neck slowly lifted. He looked at me, those deep eyes churning with intense emotions I couldn't read—disappointment, unwillingness, and a touch of hurt.
He seemed very dissatisfied with this answer.
But before I could think further, he leaned down and blocked all my unfinished words with a burning, domineering kiss. This kiss no longer carried the punishment and plunder of before, but was filled with a complex, almost desperate longing.
After a long while, he pulled back slightly, forehead against mine, breathing hot and ragged.
Jared looked at me, his eyes filled with undissolvable passion and a kind of all-or-nothing determination.
"Sloane," his voice was terribly hoarse, each word seeming to brand itself on my heart, "let's... have a baby."
I nodded gently.
Half a month slipped quietly through my fingers, and that strange calm and sweetness between Jared and me had become routine.
The Montclair Estate, which once made me feel suffocated, no longer seemed so cold because of his presence.
My hand had completely healed under careful care. Those tiny wounds had healed into faint pink marks that no longer affected any delicate operations.
That day, I was in the study reading a medical journal when David's call came through urgently.
"Sloane!" His voice carried a sense of urgency even through the phone, "We have a special patient, the situation is critical, get here quick!"
On the phone, he briefly explained that the patient was a visiting royal family member who had suffered multiple organ injuries from an accident. The situation was extremely complex.
"I'll be right there." I didn't hesitate for a second. Saving lives was an instinct carved into my bones.
I rushed to the hospital as fast as possible. The atmosphere in the emergency department was so tense you could wring water from it.
Lila and several department heads were gathered around the CT scans, all frowning deeply. I quickly changed into my white coat and walked over.
The patient's condition was indeed tricky. The surgery carried extremely high risks—any tiny mistake could result in the patient dying on the operating table. But I took a deep breath, pushed all distractions aside, and focused my gaze on the images. Those days and nights soaked in grief at the orphanage, those complex thoughts about Jared—I forcibly suppressed them all in this moment.
I was a doctor. This was my battlefield.
Combining the patient's various indicators and imaging details, I quickly constructed a complete surgical approach in my mind.
"The surgery isn't complicated." I spoke calmly, pointing to an easily overlooked anatomical space on the scan, "Entering from here can minimize damage to surrounding tissue and address several major bleeding points in one go."
My words stunned several senior attending physicians present.
They looked where I pointed, their faces first showing doubt, but after I detailed the feasibility and risk assessment of each step, their grave expressions gradually gave way to sudden understanding.
The surgical plan was quickly finalized. To ensure nothing went wrong and to provide accountability to the royal family, the hospital decided to internally livestream the surgery.
Hours later, when I dragged my exhausted body out of the operating room and removed my sweat-soaked surgical gown, the royal family members waiting at the door immediately approached.
Leading them was a refined middle-aged man who gripped my hands tightly, gratitude nearly overflowing from his eyes.
"Doctor, thank you so much! You saved my brother. You're a benefactor to our entire family!"
The surgery was a perfect success, going more smoothly than anyone had imagined.
The royal family treated me as an honored guest. The middle-aged man even produced an exquisite velvet box containing a pigeon-egg-sized sapphire, its brilliance flowing, worth a fortune.
"This is a small token of our appreciation. Please accept it."
I stepped back and politely declined the generous gift. "Saving lives is my duty. I can't accept this."
I paused, looking into his sincere eyes, and made my request: "I have only one request—please don't publicize my personal information, and in the surgery recording, please blur all footage of me."
David, standing nearby, frowned in confusion. "Sloane, this is a great opportunity to make a name for yourself. There's no need to hide like this."
I shook my head, glanced at the gradually darkening night outside the window, and said softly, "I don't want my life disturbed."
This half month of peace had been hard-won. Like a greedy hamster, I was carefully guarding this warmth I'd finally obtained.
I didn't want spotlights and media attention to shatter this fragile calm.
Though the royal family didn't understand, they solemnly agreed to my request.
When I returned to Montclair Estate, night had fallen deep.
But the living room lights were left on for me, and the air carried a faint aroma of food.