Chapter 51 Tears and News at the Door
Chloe threw her phone onto the mattress and bolted out the door barefoot, completely uncaring about her appearance.
She sprinted down the carpeted hallway, heading straight for Nathan's room.
She raised a clenched fist, ready to violently pound on the heavy wooden door. She wanted to scream his name. She wanted to force her way inside, tear off his shirt to see the scars, ask him exactly how much it hurt, and scream at him for hiding his pain from her. She wanted to hold his massive, broken body as tight as she possibly could and just sob until she lost her voice.
But when her knuckles were an inch from the wood, she violently stopped.
She clamped both hands over her mouth, muffling a choked sob. Her tear-stained eyes stared blankly at the brass room number as her legs gave out, and she slowly slid down the doorframe until she sank to her knees.
She couldn't do it.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, dragging in a ragged, suffocating breath.
She knew exactly why he was hiding it. The brilliant, untouchable Nathan Archer had his impenetrable pride. He would rather completely sever his ties with her and rot in isolation than let the woman he loved see him as weak, broken, and pathetic.
Who wouldn't want to stand beside the person they love looking their absolute best?
If maintaining this lie gave him even a fraction of dignity, then so be it. She would play along.
But no matter what he did, no matter how cruelly he tried to push her away, she was never, ever leaving him. If he yelled at her, if he aggressively rejected her, she would just cling harder.
Chloe sat huddled on the floor by his door, shivering in her thin pajamas, sniffling quietly. The sheer thought of Nathan enduring invasive brain surgery alone made her cry uncontrollably.
She absolutely refused to go back to her empty room. Even separated by a solid wall, sitting on this freezing carpet made her feel fractionally closer to him.
A few hotel guests passed by in the hallway. Seeing a beautiful young woman crouched alone by a door, violently crying, they threw her sympathetic, judgmental glances before quickly walking away.
Chloe ignored them. She lit up her phone screen, opened Nathan's WhatsApp chat, and began to type rapidly through her blinding tears.
"Nathan, I love you. I love you so much. Today, I love you just a little bit more than yesterday. And I am going to love you a little more every single day than the day before."
"I owe you twenty-three years of my life. I am going to make it up to you, second by second, okay?"
"Nathan... I'm going to treat you so incredibly well from now on. I will buy you whatever you want to eat. I will follow you absolutely anywhere you want to go, forever and ever."
"I love you. I will always love you."
She hit Send.
A second later, the heavy door she was leaning against suddenly swung inward.
Caught off guard, Chloe completely lost her balance, tumbling backward onto the threshold.
She looked up blankly, blinking through her tears.
Nathan was standing in the doorway, staring down at her. He was holding his illuminated phone in one hand, his brow furrowed in a dark, complex knot. "Are you planning on not sleeping at all tonight? You're just going to sit outside my door sending me paragraphs?"
Chloe sniffed, her red, swollen eyes gazing up at him pathetically. "I... I just missed you, Nathan. Even with just a wall between us, I miss you so much."
She tentatively reached out, wrapping her cold fingers around his ankle. "Nathan... please let me just watch you sleep tonight. I swear I won't touch you. I promise I won't do anything to cross the line. I just want to watch you breathe."
Nathan stared down into her desperate, completely shattered eyes. His hands clenched violently at his sides.
He could hear his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. He could feel his damaged chest heaving with each brutal, heavy thud.
He had known all along that he was drowning in this feeling. He had known he never genuinely wanted to break free. But he had never imagined he could sink this completely, or that his scarred heart could still race this fast for anyone.
She had effortlessly ignited every last ounce of his buried passion. And now, she was sitting on his floor, looking up at him with those pleading, hurt eyes, begging him for the bare minimum.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
He didn't know. All he knew was that he was entirely incapable of pushing her away again. He didn't possess a single fraction of the strength required to close that door in her face.
Nathan let out a ragged exhale, slowly unclenched his fists, and reached down.
He grabbed her forearms and hauled her up from the floor.
The moment she was on her feet, Chloe ruthlessly capitalized on his momentum. She threw her entire body forward, crashing violently into his chest. She wrapped her arms tight around his waist, using her body weight to shove him two steps backward into the room, and then smoothly kicked the door shut behind them with her heel.
Nathan stared at the closed door, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh into her hair.
There really was no winning. All his impenetrable boundaries and psychological warfare crumbled to absolute dust the second she cried.
Early the next morning, Nathan's phone alarm buzzed sharply on the nightstand at exactly 7:00 AM.
Nathan opened his eyes. He reached out to turn off the alarm and grab his glasses. As he moved, his long fingers accidentally brushed against the warm, sleeping figure curled securely against his side.
He turned his head.
Chloe was deeply asleep. Her golden-brown hair spilled wildly across the white pillowcase, her soft cheek pressed intimately against the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes were gently closed, her incredibly long lashes curling downward like delicate little fans against her skin.
Her serene, completely unburdened face looked like a classical oil painting. She was bathed in the soft, gray morning light, a vision that violently, permanently burned itself into his scarred brain.
He slowly raised a hand, gently stroking a lock of hair away from her face. It was just as impossibly soft and smooth as he remembered. A profound, aching smile touched his lips.
He shifted his heavy weight, turning fully onto his side to just watch her breathe in the silence. His fingers drifted lazily over her hair, lightly brushing her earlobe. He slowly traced the curve of her cheek, letting his thumb brush over her lower lip.
Her eyelashes fluttered. A sleepy, completely satisfied smile curved her lips before she slowly blinked open her eyes, which sparkled like warm honey in the light.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice a rough, sexy hum as she gazed up at him.
"Seven thirty," Nathan murmured, his voice incredibly gentle. "You can sleep for another ten minutes."
"I'm not sleeping anymore," Chloe smiled, stretching like a lazy cat.
She looked deeply into his dark eyes, a wicked, playful glint appearing in hers. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet. Can I still kiss you?"
Nathan immediately raised his large hand, gently covering her sparkling eyes like a blindfold. Do not look at me like that first thing in the morning, he thought, his heart rate instantly spiking.
He was no longer a violently hormonal twenty-something, yet he still felt the exact same desperate urge to completely lose himself in her gaze and drag her right back under the sheets.
Twenty-three years ago, he had possessed limitless, reckless energy. He used to genuinely dread waking up in bed beside Chloe, because the absolute second he opened his eyes, he wanted to call in sick to the lab and spend the entire day buried inside her.
To forcefully resist her physical allure and maintain his academic schedule, he had established a ruthless routine. He would wake up at 5:00 AM, go for a grueling run, buy breakfast, shower, and dress in a full suit before he ever dared to wake her up.
Every single morning, she would blink her eyes open, her hair a completely tangled mess, and demand a good morning kiss. And every single morning, Nathan would casually pinch her pouting lips and strictly say, "You haven't brushed your teeth yet. Absolutely no kiss."
"You think I'm gross? Just you wait, Professor!" Chloe would aggressively wrinkle her nose, muttering indignantly as she scrambled out of bed and dashed into the bathroom.
Two minutes later, she would march back out smelling like mint, physically blocking the front door before he could leave for class. With her hands still damp from the sink, she would grab his face, plant a ferocious, demanding kiss on his mouth, and hold him hostage against the doorframe for a solid five minutes before finally letting him leave.
Thinking back to those golden, chaotic mornings, a deep, suffocating warmth spread through Nathan's chest.
He had always believed that Chloe was a masterful, deliberate sculptor. Every single thing she did—every laugh, every kiss, every stubborn argument—was like taking a tiny steel chisel and methodically chipping away at his defenses, leaving an indelible, permanent mark on his soul.
"I'm going to run back to my room and change," Chloe murmured, pulling his hand away from her eyes. Seeing the heavy, complex emotion swirling in his gaze, she didn't press him. She smoothly slid out of bed, her feet hitting the carpet. "Meet me in the lobby at eight."
She walked out the adjoining door, deliberately giving him space.
Last night, neither of them had spoken a single word about his medical episode or his injury.
She knew he wasn't psychologically ready to talk about it yet. His pride was too fragile right now. And if he wasn't ready to bleed, she wouldn't force the wound open. She had all the time in the world. She knew exactly how to systematically dismantle his guard.
After all, late last night, long after Nathan had finally succumbed to exhausted sleep, Chloe had quietly turned over. She had reached out in the dark and found his hand resting outside the covers. She had locked her fingers violently with his, desperately clinging to his warmth and the solid, living texture of his skin.
His hand was still exactly the same as it had been when he was a boy—long, pale, and elegantly corded with veins, the kind of striking hand an art professor would force a class to sketch.
She remembered when they had first started dating. She had been a sophomore, and Nathan had been an utterly obsessed, ruthless premed student drowning in medical coursework. All their dates had been exclusively confined to the university library.
Back then, the thrill of finally having him was so entirely intoxicating that Chloe just wanted to consume him. But in the dead-silent library, they couldn't speak, and they definitely couldn't kiss. All she could do was prop her chin on her hand and blatantly stare at his devastatingly handsome face and those beautiful hands flying across the pages.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Nathan would eventually whisper, leaning across the desk when her intense gaze made him too hot and uncomfortable to focus.
"Nothing," Chloe would reply matter-of-factly. "I just really want to hold you and kiss you."
Nathan’s ears would instantly flush a deep, burning red. He would shoot her a lethal glare, reaching over to lightly tap her forehead with his pen. "What is wrong with your brain? Go read a textbook and stop reading cheap romance novels."
Chloe wouldn't even flinch at the reprimand. She would just smile, reaching out to brazenly grab his outstretched finger. "How could you use such a beautiful hand to poke my hard skull? Does your poor finger hurt? Let me fix it." She would pull his knuckle directly to her lips, blowing softly on the skin.
Nathan would physically jolt at the ticklish, electric sensation. He would quickly pull his hand back, his chest tight with a sweet, terrifying adrenaline, completely failing to hide the absolute, defeated smile breaking across his face.
"You are a complete menace," he would mutter. "Fine. Give me your hand."
He would turn back to his medical textbook, but this time, he would flip the pages awkwardly with his left hand, because his right hand was tightly, possessively clamped around Chloe's beneath the table. His ears would remain bright red for an hour, but the corners of his mouth would never stop smiling.
From that day forward, whenever they studied, they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. One would turn pages with the left hand, the other with the right, completely tethered together in the silence.
On the flight back to Chicago, Chloe’s mood was infinitely lighter and far more vibrant than when they had left.
Sitting side-by-side in the plush first-class cabin, she was completely energized. She brazenly hooked her arm through Nathan’s, resting her head heavily on his broad shoulder as the plane climbed into the clouds.