Chapter 44 Husband?

Chapter 44 Husband?

Opening the door, the darkness and emptiness she'd expected weren't there.

The living room lights were blazing bright, and the man who should have been asleep long ago was now wearing loungewear, holding a vacuum cleaner, conducting a massive cleaning operation.

Monica stood frozen in shock: "It's so late, why aren't you asleep yet?"

Shane turned off the vacuum, casually wiped the thin layer of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, glanced at her, his tone unreadable: "Too much dust in the house. Couldn't stand it."

The excuse was laughably bad, but Monica didn't call him out on it.

She changed her shoes and walked in, placing the various bags she was carrying on the dining table, lifting her chin toward him like showing off a treasure.

"Here, won won these playing games, brought them back as a late-night snack for you."

Shane walked over, looking at the pile of stuff, raising an eyebrow.

Monica was quite excited, taking things out of the bags one by one, talking as she went: "This is that brand of beef jerky you love, and brownies from the boutique shop, oh right, and this one," she held up a beautifully packaged paper box, eyes crinkling with a smile, "it's from that new trendy shop, they sell something called 'Honey Bun', I heard it's really good, I specially grabbed it..."

The two syllables of "Honey" rolled off her tongue, said quickly and lightly.

Shane had been leaning against the dining table, listening casually with a lazy expression.

But when that vague word drilled into his ears, his whole body suddenly stiffened.

Honey?

What did she just call him?

The glass by his hand got knocked over, water spilling across the table, interrupting Monica's enthusiastic introduction.

"Oh no, how careless." Monica snapped back to reality, hurriedly grabbing tissues to wipe it up.

She bent down, focused intently on wiping the water on the table, completely unaware that the gaze falling from above had become burning hot and intense.

Just as her fingers were about to reach near his hand, her wrist was suddenly grabbed by a scorching hot hand.

Monica jumped in surprise, looked up, and crashed into a pair of bottomless dark eyes.

Inside them churned turbulent waves she couldn't understand, as if they wanted to suck her whole being in.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, his voice terribly hoarse, carrying a tightness from extreme suppression.

"What you just said," he stared at her intently, word by word, "say what you just said again."

Monica was startled by his battle-ready appearance, the tissue in her hand still damp.

She stood dazed for a long moment before belatedly realizing that the sweet brand name from earlier must have made him misunderstand.

"I was saying... Honey Bun." She awkwardly tried to pull back her wrist, her voice dropping a few notches, carrying some urgent explanation, "It's that kind of honey roll bread, Shane, it's a new trendy bakery that's been really popular online lately, famous because of its cute name, what were you thinking?"

Shane's face, usually cold as an ice sculpture, visibly flushed with a suspicious redness.

From his ears all the way down to his collar, nowhere to hide under the bright lights.

He suddenly let go, as if burned by fire, awkwardly turning his face away, stiffly spitting out two words: "Too sweet."

Monica looked at him like this, her heartbeat still not settled, but feeling somewhat suspicious.

His reaction was too big, his face red to an abnormal degree.

She instinctively stepped forward, reaching out her hand, her fingertips lightly touching his forehead.

"Shane, are you feeling okay? Why is your face so red, do you have a fever?"

Her fingertips carried the slight coolness of early autumn, pressing against his burning skin, stirring up a fine tremor.

Shane didn't dodge, just looked down at her, those ink-black pupils churning with undispersed desire and embarrassment.

He suddenly leaned closer without warning, his tall shadow instantly enveloping her.

Monica's breath caught, pupils suddenly contracting. He was too close, close enough for her to see his thick lashes clearly, close enough that their noses almost touched.

She thought he was going to kiss her, her heartbeat so fast it almost burst through her chest, instinctively closing her eyes, long lashes trembling violently.

However, the expected soft touch didn't fall.

Shane just tilted his head slightly, his nose lightly sniffing near her neck, his burning breath spraying on her sensitive skin, bringing a tingling sensation.

After a moment, he calmly pulled back the distance, his voice returning to its usual coolness: "Didn't drink, good girl."

Monica's eyes flew open, meeting his teasing yet scrutinizing gaze, the temperature on her face instantly exploding.

So he was just checking whether she'd violated his "no drinking" order.

"You..." She bit her lip in embarrassed annoyance, feeling that her earlier eye-closing action was embarrassing to the extreme.

Awkwardness silently spread through the air, Monica wishing she could find a crack to crawl into.

Shane was quite calm though. He reached over to grab the pile of food boxes on the table, turned and walked toward his room, his tone casual: "I'll take the late-night snack."

Monica watched his back, somewhat awkwardly tugging at her clothes, saying in a muffled voice: "Then... good night."

"Wait." Shane stopped at his doorway, turned to look at her, "What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?"

Monica was stunned, a strange feeling sliding through her heart.

Was this man being a bit too obsessed with "cooking" lately?

"Whatever, don't go to too much trouble, just grab a bagel from the convenience store downstairs." She just wanted to quickly end this time alone together.

"Sandwich and fresh ground coffee, come out at six-thirty sharp." Shane completely ignored her "whatever," directly setting the menu, his tone brooking no argument.

Monica opened her mouth, just about to say "really not necessary," when Shane dropped another bombshell.

"Also, starting tomorrow, I'll drive you to work. No need to wait for a car on the street or squeeze onto the subway."

"Shane, that's too much trouble." Monica finally couldn't help but object. She not only didn't want to trouble him, but was more afraid that this overly intimate closeness would make her sink in again, "My law firm isn't on the way to your company, I can get an Uber very quickly myself."

"It's on the way." Shane lied without changing expression, "I have a project meeting to go to over there tomorrow."

"What about the day after? The day after that?" Monica stared at him, "Shane, I don't want to owe you favors every time. With our current relationship, getting too close isn't appropriate."

The rejection in her eyes was so obvious, like drawing an abyss between them.

Shane's gaze darkened, his fingers gripping the door handle tightening slightly.

He didn't argue further, just looked at her deeply, then went into his room.

Monica stood in the living room, shouting at the closed door: "Shane! Did you hear me? Stop always making decisions on your own!"