Chapter 73 Jared is Jealous
Sloane's POV
Jared heard the door open and walked out of the kitchen, still wearing a ridiculous cartoon apron.
He was holding a bowl of steaming soup. When he saw me come back, a hint of smile immediately spread across his deep eyes.
"You're home?" He put the soup on the dining table and came over to naturally take my coat. "Go wash your hands. I made soup for you."
Looking at him, the exhaustion from the intense surgery instantly melted away, replaced by this warm, homey feeling.
At the table, he served me the soup. "Why so late today? You didn't answer your phone either. What were you busy with at the hospital?"
I paused mid-sip.
Looking at his concerned eyes, those thrilling moments of surgery, the royal family's gratitude, and the dazzling gemstone flashed through my mind one by one.
But when the words reached my lips, they took a different turn.
I didn't want him to know. I didn't want our relationship mixed with any considerations of "fame" and "value."
I just wanted to be his wife Sloane, not the "miracle doctor" Sloane who could bring honor to the Montclair family.
I lowered my eyes, gently stirring the soup in my bowl with my spoon, and said softly, "Nothing much. Lila had something going on, so I stayed at the hospital to keep her company for a while."
Jared didn't press further. His deep eyes were hard to read, as if what I just said wasn't a clumsy lie, but just an ordinary little matter.
His unquestioning trust made my heart tighten instead, like a child who had lied, feeling somewhat awkward and at a loss.
After dinner, I got up to clear the dishes.
These past few days, we'd formed an understanding between us—he cooked, I washed dishes. This plain, trivial domestic routine was something I wouldn't have even dared to dream of before.
Perhaps my mind was wandering. As I turned around holding a stack of plates, my hand slipped, and the dishes tumbled from my grasp.
The sharp sound of shattering echoed through the quiet dining room, white porcelain fragments scattered across the floor.
I instinctively crouched down to pick them up. The moment my fingertip touched a sharp piece, a strong force pulled me up from the ground.
"Don't move!" Jared's voice carried unprecedented tension. He pulled me aside, worry clear between his brows. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, it's just..." Before I could finish, a slight sting came from my fingertip.
Looking down, a drop of bright red blood was seeping from a cut on my index finger.
It was just a tiny cut, barely even an injury for someone like me who handled scalpels all year round.
I carelessly tried to put my finger in my mouth to suck on it, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist. Without a word, Jared pulled me into the bathroom.
He pressed my hand under the faucet, turned on the cold water, and carefully rinsed that cut so small it was almost negligible.
I watched him.
This man who was decisive and ruthless in business, who faced his entire family's interrogation without batting an eye, was now so nervous over a small cut on my hand that even his jawline was tensed tight.
After rinsing it clean, he pulled me back to the living room, rummaged through cabinets to find the first aid kit, took out cotton swabs and disinfectant, and finally clumsily tore open a bandage, carefully, almost reverently, placing it on my fingertip.
Only after finishing all this did he seem to breathe a sigh of relief.
Looking at the cartoon bandage on my fingertip that clashed so much with his cool demeanor, something soft deep in my heart was gently touched.
Was this really Jared? The man who used to be cold as ice to me, who was stingy with even a glance?
"Let the servants do this kind of thing from now on," he commanded in a deep voice, his tone still carrying lingering alarm.
After speaking, he stopped looking at me, turned to grab a broom, and silently and clumsily swept up the mess on the floor.
I watched his tall figure and couldn't help but smile.
That night, I lay in bed. The man beside me, carrying the fresh scent of his shower, gently embraced me from behind.
His chest was hot and solid. These past few days, I'd gotten used to falling asleep in his arms.
He didn't speak, just buried his face in the crook of my neck, his warm breath spraying on my skin, bringing fine shivers. After a long while, a restrained yet burning kiss landed behind my ear.
My body stiffened slightly, but I didn't pull away.
My compliance seemed to greatly encourage Jared. His kisses became more frequent, from behind my ear, to my neck, then to my lips.
This kiss was different from any before—no plundering or punishment, only careful exploration and tenderness too thick to dissolve.
I turned around, met his deep gaze, and took the initiative to wrap my arms around his neck, clumsily responding to him.
Outside the window, the moonlight was gentle as water. Inside the room, the air gradually heated up.
That night, there were no more barriers between us, our souls and bodies closely intertwined.
The next day, I was woken by urgent phone ringing.
Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting a bright spot on the floor.
I groggily fished my phone out from under the pillow. Jessie's name was flashing on the screen.
"Hello..." My voice was still hoarse from just waking up.
"Sloane! Help!" On the other end, Jessie's voice sounded like she was about to cry. "There's an international neurosurgery academic conference this afternoon, right? The director insists I go, says it'll be good experience, but I'm scared to go alone! I heard all the top international experts will be there. I'm afraid I'll be so nervous I won't be able to speak and embarrass our department!"
Academic conference? I instantly became more alert. I'd heard about this conference—it was a highly prestigious event in the field.
"Sloane, will you come with me?" Jessie's tone was pleading. "Just think of it as helping this newbie level up! Please!"
"Which experts are coming?" I asked.
Jessie immediately rattled off a string of famous names.
When I heard one of them, my heart skipped a beat. It was a giant in the neurosurgery field whom I'd idolized since my student days.
"Okay, I'll go with you," I agreed without hesitation.
After hanging up, just as I was about to get up, a warm body pressed against me from behind.
Jared pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head, his voice carrying a lazy huskiness. "You're awake?"
A gentle good morning kiss landed on my forehead.
"Yeah," I leaned against him, savoring this rare peace. "Jessie just called. There's an academic conference this afternoon. I want to go with her."
He didn't object, just made a soft sound of agreement, but his arms tightened around me.
"By the way," he said as if casually, seemingly offhandedly asking, "Is David going too?"