Chapter 301 She Finally Acted Spoiled

Chapter 301 She Finally Acted Spoiled

Scarlett froze the moment she heard him. Heat rushed to her face as she quickly shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

Ambrose knew exactly why she was panicking. His voice turned low and steady in a quiet attempt to soothe her.

"I just want to check if you're really healed. If everything looks fine, I can relax. If not, we're going back to the hospital tomorrow."

Her eyes shimmered with thin tears, soft and stubborn all at once. "I am healed. You don't need to check."

He kissed her gently, though the look in his eyes betrayed the desire simmering beneath his restraint. "If you're healed," he murmured, "why not let me?"

Scarlett wanted him—God, she did—but the memory of that awful night still clawed at her. And the embarrassment of the hospital exam afterward hadn't helped. Her body reacted before her mind could, tensing and retreating. She bit her lip, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared it'll hurt."

"I'll be careful this time," he said, trying to coax her in closer.

But the shadow in her chest remained stubborn and heavy, and she shook her head again. "No. I still don't feel like I'm back to normal yet. I just need more time."

Ambrose studied her flushed face and saw the desire lingering there… right beside the fear. He understood. She wasn't pushing him away because she didn't want him. She was hurt. And healing took longer than either of them wanted.

He'd never regretted anything the way he regretted that night. Not only had he hurt her, but now she wouldn't even let him near her.

He pressed another kiss to her skin, his voice rough as gravel. "Sweetheart, are you really going to leave me suffering like this?"

His tension was obvious—his clenched jaw, the muscle ticking near his temple. Scarlett lifted a hand and touched his face, guilt stirring despite herself. "Maybe go take a cold shower?"

Ambrose had intended to say something else. But if she'd reached the point of suggesting that, arguing would only scare her more. He exhaled, eyes dark with a desperate sort of hope, and traced a thumb over her lower lip.

Then her hand.

Then her palm—slow, deliberate strokes that made his intention obvious.

Scarlett gave him a look that said she understood perfectly. "It's not impossible."

He let out a quiet, helpless laugh and dipped down to kiss her again. It wasn't what he wanted, not exactly, but it was still progress. At least she was letting him touch her. At least she wasn't recoiling from him. That alone felt like a gift.

The bathroom filled with steam, the air thick and warm around them.

Ever since Ambrose had hurt her that night, Scarlett had carried a shadow into anything intimate. The moment she felt even the hint of danger, her body braced and pulled back.

Her eyes watered now—not from emotion but from sensation—and she stared at him with a helpless, watery plea. "I still can't push past it."

Ambrose drew a long breath, willing himself to stay calm. "Trust me. I won't hurt you. I'm going to help you."

"How?" Her voice shook as much as her hands.

He didn't answer directly. He just spoke softly while his hands stroked along her skin, grounding her. "You're too tense. You keep expecting it to hurt."

"That's because you didn't feel what I felt that night," she snapped, a flash of anger breaking through her embarrassment.

He shut his mouth immediately. Push this topic one inch further, and she'd shut down completely. Maybe stop letting him hold her at all.

"You're right. I get it," Ambrose said quickly.

"From now on, let's not think about any of that. Just lie here. That's it. Just lie down."

She eyed him suspiciously but finally did what he asked. He settled beside her, close enough that their breaths mingled.

Twenty minutes later, he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, I checked. Everything's fine down there."

Scarlett knew he was right. Nothing was physically wrong. The rest was all fear—fear that didn't vanish just because someone told her to be brave.

"You can't rush this," she breathed. "I need time."

Time. Ambrose almost laughed. Time was exactly what was driving him insane. He glanced down at her nestled against his chest.

"This isn't sustainable," he said quietly. "If it keeps getting worse… we might need to see a therapist."

Scarlett's eyes shot open. "A therapist? For this? Absolutely not. If someone's going, it's you, not me."

Ambrose winced. It sounded outrageous, yes. But ignoring it wouldn't fix anything. And what if the fear deepened? Then what?

Scarlett didn't give him the chance to push further. "Maybe it won't be a problem forever. Just wait a little longer. Give me time."

He stared at her for several long seconds, his dark eyes intense but softening with reluctant acceptance. "One more week. If nothing changes, we're going."

"A month," Scarlett countered immediately. "A week isn't enough."

He frowned. She could see he was about to protest, so she leaned up and kissed him softly, her voice turning warm and pleading. "You caused this. So you can give me more time, okay?"

That tone—sweet, fragile, a little shy—hit him harder than anything else. Scarlett never spoke to him like that. It melted straight into his bones.

His voice dropped, almost a growl. "Fine. A month. But sweetheart… I really hope you'll let me in before then."

She curled deeper into his arms, sighing. "Then you need to be good to me."

If regret had weight, Ambrose would've sunk straight through the floor. One impulsive choice, one moment of temper, and now they were paying for it—especially him. He couldn't let anything like that ever happen again.

They stayed like that for a long time, sharing warmth and breath. Scarlett was exhausted, but her mind still drifted to questions she'd never dared ask.

She wanted to know what he'd been like before. How he'd felt back then—when she hadn't even known he liked her.

"Ambrose," she murmured, "why did you like me in college? We never even talked."

His arm tightened around her, pulling her closer with an instinctive protectiveness. 

"You were this adorable little nerd," he said. "Kind of clueless. Kind of earnest. I thought you were different. I kept watching you without even realizing it."

Scarlett studied his jawline. "That's all?"

He paused, thinking. "And maybe… because you always knew exactly what you wanted."

She felt a pinch of regret. She had known what she wanted—until falling for the wrong person had derailed everything.

Ambrose's tone shifted, edged with jealousy he wasn't trying to hide. "What did you even like about Wesley? The guy was a jerk."