The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 374

"Fool."

He cursed inwardly, not sure if he was cursing Clara for being too soft-hearted or himself for being too much of a bastard.

Sleeping like this for a night, she would definitely be sore all over tomorrow.

Rhys tossed the overcoat aside, bent down, slid one arm under her knees, and supported her back with the other.

With a single motion, Rhys effortlessly lifted her into his arms.

The woman in his arms was a little heavier than he remembered, no longer the painfully thin frame of the past. She felt soft and substantial, filling his embrace completely.

He felt a sense of relief.

He was relieved that in the years since she'd left him, she had lived well, keeping herself healthy and beautiful.

As if sensing the movement in her sleep, Clara's brow furrowed, and she snuggled closer to the warmth, her face brushing against his chest.

A long-lost softness.

A long-lost dependence.

After placing her on the hospital bed, Rhys remained bent over, his hands braced on either side of her, trapping her between himself and the mattress.

Their breaths mingled. Inhaling her scent, Rhys felt dazed, wondering if the fever had addled his brain and he was hallucinating from extreme longing.

"Clara."

Rhys whispered her name. There was no response.

Clara was completely drained of energy and stamina; even being moved hadn't woken her.

Rhys traced her features with his gaze, his eyes finally landing on her lips.

This mouth used to be the one that chattered endlessly, whispering countless sweet nothings to him.

Saying, "Rhys, you look so handsome in your police uniform." Saying, "Honey, I love you the most." Saying, "We'll be together forever."

She loved to kiss, too, but she was both greedy and timid. She would be the one to start it, but she would also be the one to beg him to stop, crying that she couldn't take it anymore.

Now, all that came from this mouth were daggers.

"I won't accept it." "You're not worthy." "Get lost."

"You've brought shame to your father's name."

He used to believe that love meant letting go, meant wanting what was best for her. He could retreat into the shadows and watch her embrace the sunlight.

But now that she truly wanted to marry someone else, to grow old with another man... jealousy was driving him mad, the pain making him want to die.

He couldn't pretend anymore.

He wanted Clara to hate him, to pity him.

As long as he could keep watching her, he would accept anything.

He was that stray dog with a broken leg.

Having tasted what it was like to have a home, he could no longer bear the hardship of being a stray.

Even if his master no longer loved him, even if his master held a stick.

He just wanted to shamelessly lie by the door, guarding that faint glimmer of hope.

Even if he froze to death in that winter.

He would do it willingly.