Chapter 87 Giving Gifts
Sloane's POV
He stood in the entryway, still wearing the same dark coat from yesterday, exhaustion written all over his face, the fatigue in his eyes impossible to hide.
But when he looked up and saw me, those deep eyes instantly lit up.
He was holding a paper bag in one hand and a box of warm milk in the other.
The bag bore the logo of that French bakery on North Street, the rich buttery aroma wafting out—my favorite croissants.
He really remembered.
My heart warmed as I walked over and naturally took the items from his hands. "Why didn't you call me first? I could have come down to meet you."
"Wanted to surprise you." His voice was hoarse, carrying the weariness of an all-nighter.
I set the things on the dining table and poured him a glass of warm water.
Watching his Adam's apple bob as he tilted his head back to drink, and the dark stubble on his chin, a wave of sympathy washed over me uncontrollably.
I reached out to help him take off the coat that carried the smell of hospital disinfectant and the night's cold air.
The moment the coat slipped from his shoulders, he suddenly reached out and pulled me entirely into his arms.
The embrace was urgent and tight, with a desperate intensity of something lost and found again, as if he wanted to merge me into his very bones.
He buried his face deep in the crook of my neck, greedily breathing in the clean scent of my body wash, his hot breath on my skin sending fine shivers through me.
After a long moment, he let out a satisfied sigh, his voice muffled with a heavy nasal tone. "I feel alive again."
His dependent manner made me want to laugh, and also softened my heart.
I gently patted his broad back, my tone carrying a teasing note I hadn't even noticed myself. "So when you're rested up, when will you go visit Keira again?"
I meant it as a joke, but his arms around me suddenly stiffened.
He slowly lifted his head, and in those deep eyes, all the fatigue and tenderness faded, replaced by an unprecedented solemnity and seriousness.
"I won't go again." He looked at me, enunciating each word, his voice heavy as an oath. "From now on, you're the only one."
Those words—domineering, dictatorial, carrying his usual forcefulness—left me completely stunned.
My heart felt like it had been gently struck by his words, skipping a beat, then racing out of control.
Looking at his overly serious face, I couldn't help but burst out laughing.
He really looked like a large dog eager to pledge loyalty to its owner.
Just as this warm atmosphere was about to engulf us, a sharp, piercing phone ringtone abruptly shattered the morning's peace.
It was my phone, the screen flashing that name I deeply detested.
The smile vanished from my face instantly, an ominous feeling rising in my heart.
The moment I answered, Isabelle's sharp, bitter voice, full of superiority, drilled through the receiver: "Sloane, you have half an hour to get your ass back to Montclair Estate right now!"
Her tone was commanding, like she was ordering a servant.
"Why should I go back?" I asked coldly.
"Why?" Isabelle on the other end let out an exaggerated snort. "You've seduced Jared out of his mind, making him defy his elders again and again for you, and now you want to play innocent? I'm telling you, you're coming back today, and in front of me and Arthur, you're going to confess all your shameless tricks, every single one!"
Confess?
I was amused by her twisted logic.
I laughed lightly, the sound full of undisguised mockery and disdain. "Isabelle, have you forgotten that Jared and I are legally married? What 'tricks' do I need to 'seduce' my own husband? As for you, at your age, still so eager to spy on other couples' private affairs—don't you feel... ashamed for your poor husband?"
"You... you shameless bitch! How dare you talk to me like that!" Isabelle on the other end was instantly enraged, her voice shrill to the point of distortion.
I was too lazy to listen to her ranting and hung up directly.
Tossing my phone on the couch, my chest was still heaving. I knew clearly that yielding and enduring wouldn't earn their respect—it would only make them worse.
I used to be too foolish, thinking that if I was obedient enough, I could have a moment's peace.
But now I understand—to deal with these wolves and tigers, you have to show claws sharper than theirs, or you'll be devoured completely.
"Ignore her." Jared had somehow moved behind me, gently embracing me from behind, his warm chest against my back, radiating reassuring warmth.
I leaned into his arms and nodded, the anger Isabelle had stirred gradually subsiding.
"You haven't slept all night. Go upstairs and rest." I turned around, looking at the clear bloodshot in his eyes, reaching up to touch his weary brow.
He caught my hand and pressed a burning kiss to it, his eyes showing a tenderness I'd never seen before. "Okay."
Just as he turned to go upstairs, there was a sudden urgent knocking at the door.
"Knock, knock, knock—"
Not loud, but like a hammer, striking our taut nerves with precision.
Jared and I exchanged glances, both seeing the same wariness in each other's eyes.
The timing of this knocking was too coincidental, as if calculated for our most relaxed moment.
I walked over and looked through the peephole, my heart jolting.
Standing outside was Christian.
He was still in his well-tailored suit, his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses calm and unreadable.
I suppressed my confusion and opened the door.
"Sloane." He nodded slightly at me in greeting, then held up a thin manila envelope. "Jared left in such a hurry last night, he forgot this at the hospital. I thought it might be urgent, so I brought it over on my way."
His reason was flawless, his manner polite and distant.
I reached out to take it, my fingertips accidentally touching his—the coldness of his hand made me pause slightly.
"I'll thank you for him." I thanked him politely, holding the envelope, preparing to close the door.
"Would you like to come in for tea?" Out of basic courtesy, I still asked.
"No need." He declined quickly, but didn't immediately turn to leave.
His gaze made me uncomfortable, my wariness rising again.
"Mr. Christian," I said patiently, breaking the strange silence, "if you have something to say, just say it."
My directness seemed to surprise him. The look behind his lenses flickered for a moment, but finally he shook his head, that emerging emotion quickly suppressed completely.
"It's nothing." He resumed his refined, aloof manner, turned and strode away with long steps. "I'll be going now."