Chapter 99 Sloane, Don’t Cry
Sloane's POV My words were like a bucket of cold water, instantly dousing the fire in his eyes.
His tense jawline relaxed slightly, but that gloomy face showed no sign of softening.
He just coldly glanced at the bodyguards kneeling on the ground, then suddenly lifted his foot and kicked the lead bodyguard hard.
"Get out! All of you, get out!" His voice was low but carried an authority that left no room for argument.
The bodyguards scrambled away as if they'd been pardoned.
Jared didn't spare them another glance. He just grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he might crush it, and dragged me into the house at breakneck speed.
His rough movements hurt a bit, but looking at his terrifyingly dark expression, I felt an indescribable sense of hurt well up inside me.
His accusations and insults just now had stabbed into my heart like a knife.
I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but didn't know where to start.
He pulled me into the living room, then suddenly let go and threw me onto the soft sofa.
My body swayed, and before I could steady myself, he bent down and pulled me into his arms.
This hug was urgent and heavy, with the force of someone who had lost and found something precious, as if he wanted to merge me into his bones and blood.
His chin rested on top of my head, his warm breath falling on my face with a barely noticeable tremor.
I froze, my body stiff in his embrace, my nose filled with his clean, pleasant scent mixed with a faint smell of gunpowder. The hurt he had caused me was now mostly washed away by this sudden embrace.
I hesitated, then finally reached out and gently wrapped my arms around his waist.
Feeling my response, his arms tightened around me, his voice extremely hoarse with a barely noticeable tremor: "Sloane... from now on... don't lie to me anymore, don't hide anything from me... I don't want to lose you... I really don't want to lose you."
His words were like a feather, gently tickling the softest part of my heart.
Leaning in his embrace, listening to his drumming heartbeat, the hurt he had caused gradually faded.
I looked up at his deep eyes and asked softly, "Are you... still angry?"
He didn't answer.
The room fell into deathly silence, with only our heavy breathing.
My heart sank again, and the hurt that had just been dispersed by his embrace came flooding back.
He was still angry—angry that I hadn't told him everything that happened at the police station right away.
But what about him? Those words he said to me, those accusations and insults, weren't they also hurtful? How could he so easily believe Harrison but be full of doubt toward me?
Just when I thought he would remain silent forever, he suddenly let go of me, cupped my face, his eyes full of guilt and pain.
"I'm sorry." His voice was extremely hoarse, each word seeming to squeeze through his teeth. "I shouldn't have said those things to you... shouldn't have doubted you..."
This belated apology was like a key, completely opening the floodgates of my emotions.
All the fear and terror I had suppressed, the hurt and anger from his accusations, and the depression from facing life and death situations these past days—all turned into scalding tears that poured out uncontrollably.
I cried without restraint, like a lost child, just wanting to let all my emotions out.
Jared completely panicked. The tall man stood there like a child who had done something wrong, at a loss.
He wanted to hold me but was afraid of hurting me, so he could only clumsily reach out and use his calloused fingertips to messily wipe away my endless tears.
"Don't cry, Sloane, don't cry..." The panic and heartache in his voice were overflowing. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault. Hit me, yell at me, anything, just please stop crying..."
Seeing the tears multiply the more he wiped, he got so anxious that sweat appeared on his forehead. His deep eyes were full of panicked regret, as if he wanted to kneel down and beg for forgiveness right then.
My crying gradually turned to sobbing. I tightened my grip on his shirt, lifted my tear-stained face to look at him, and said with a heavy nasal tone but unusually clear voice: "Jared, I only have one request."
"Tell me, a hundred requests are fine!" He immediately nodded, as if grasping at a lifeline.
"From now on, no matter what misunderstandings we have," I said word by word, using all my strength, "can you... not say those hurtful things to my face? They hurt more than any knife."
His arms around me suddenly stiffened, the pain in his eyes too thick to dissolve.
He bent down, his burning kisses falling on my tear tracks, salty and bitter. He kissed them over and over, his voice hoarse beyond recognition: "Okay, I promise you, I swear, never again... never again."
Like comforting a child, he kept apologizing in my ear, gently soothing me until my emotions completely settled down. Only then did he breathe a slight sigh of relief.
After crying, I felt completely drained.
Jared scooped me up and carefully placed me on that narrow camp bed, his movements so gentle as if handling a priceless treasure.
Only then did he have time to look around this so-called rest room, his brows immediately furrowing.
The room was cramped and narrow, the air still carrying a mixed smell of disinfectant and mildew, and there was even a water stain in the corner.
The heartache and guilt on his face were almost tangible: "You're staying here?"
"The conditions aren't great, but at least it keeps out the wind and rain." I leaned against the headboard, my voice still a bit weak.
"No way." He immediately refused, taking out his phone to make a call. "I'll have someone make new arrangements. At least we need to get you a clean, comfortable room."
"Don't!" I quickly pressed down on his hand and shook my head. "Everyone has the same conditions. I don't want special treatment."
Jared's frown deepened. He held my hand, his gaze falling on my flat stomach, his tone full of worry: "But you're different from them. In your belly..."
"I'm fine, and the baby isn't that fragile." I interrupted him, my tone gentle but firm. "I'm here as a doctor to save people, not as a wealthy wife on vacation. Jared, I can take care of myself."
He looked at me, the worry and stubbornness in his eyes gradually replaced by a complex emotion. He finally put away his phone, bent down to kiss my forehead, the corners of his lips curving into an extremely faint arc, his voice low with a sigh-like indulgence: "Got it, my doctor. You're the best."