The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 155

The bedroom descended into total silence.

The only sound was their heavy, ragged breathing.

Miles looked down at the half-torn foil packet in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, he had forcefully suppressed the raging inferno in his gaze.

He ruffled her long hair, his smile equal parts exasperated and utterly devoted.

"Claire, did you do this on purpose?"

"I swear I didn't," she replied, completely mortified. She shifted awkwardly, terrified of ruining his sheets, and gingerly tried to sit up. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Wait. Don't move," he commanded softly, getting out of bed.

Claire burrowed under the covers, wanting to cry from embarrassment.

Tonight had been nothing but a continuous streak of public humiliations!

A moment later, Miles returned carrying a pack of pads.

Claire took them, her face burning like fire. She mumbled a tiny "Thank you" before darting into the bathroom.

By the time she finished cleaning up and came out, there was a steaming mug of soothing herbal tea on the nightstand, along with a hot water bottle wrapped in a fluffy towel.

Miles had changed into fresh clothes. His hair was damp, and his skin was noticeably cool—he had clearly just taken a freezing cold shower in the guest bathroom to put out the fire.

He spoke up. "If you don't even track your own cycle, it must be highly irregular. You need to get that under control."

"From now on, cut back on cold and heavy foods, stop staying up late, and make sure you go in for regular wellness therapies..."

Claire shuffled over, taking tiny sips of the warm tea, and obediently nodded. "I know."

She peeked up at him, draping her legs casually across his lap, her tone turning wicked and playful once again.

"Dr. Zimmerman, you know, you really didn't have to take a cold shower."

"Hmm?"

She blinked innocently, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I could have helped you out. Just like last time, with..."

Miles froze entirely, then stood up and snatched the empty mug from her hands. "Shut up."

"Get some sleep," he ordered as he turned to leave, the tips of his ears flushing a vibrant crimson.

Claire grabbed his sleeve, pouting adorably. "Sleep with me. My stomach hurts, and I need you to rub it!"

Miles pressed his lips into a hard line, his body stiffening. Did she have any idea what she was saying? How had he never noticed before that she could be this much of a torment?

That night, he barely slept a wink.

The next morning, Claire woke up, stretching lazily, feeling incredibly refreshed.

Miles was standing by the bedroom door.

She climbed out of bed barefoot, still wearing last night's slip dress. After tossing and turning all night, one of the straps had slid down her arm, loosely framing her stunning curves.

"Morning, Dr. Zimmerman."

Miles's eyes darkened, and he quickly looked away. "Go wash up and eat breakfast."

They sat at the dining table in peaceful silence.

Claire's phone buzzed. It was a message from Julian Young.

[Claire, there's a private auction tonight featuring a lot of vintage Artisanal Silk Embroidery pieces. Would you be interested in checking it out?]

Without a second of hesitation, Claire replied.

[Absolutely. See you tonight.]