The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 219

Claire stared at the ointment on the nightstand, hesitating for a second before pushing the bedroom door open and stepping out.

The living room was pitch black. The lights were entirely off.

Miles stood silently in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His tall, broad-shouldered silhouette was barely illuminated by the cherry-red glow of a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, the sharp scent of tobacco filling the air.

He rarely ever smoked.

Was he that upset?

Claire approached slowly. Hearing her footsteps, Miles glanced over, immediately crushing the cigarette into an ashtray and waving a hand to clear the lingering smoke.

"Did you apply the ointment? Why did you come out?"

His gaze dropped to her bare feet, his brows knitting together in disapproval. "You're not wearing your shoes again."

He took a step, intending to go back to the bedroom to fetch her slippers.

But as he moved past her, Claire reached out and gripped the hem of his dress shirt. Her voice was earnest.

"Miles, I wasn't mad about you showing up at OCHH."

"You set up that pantry and bought the espresso machine for my team. I'm so incredibly grateful. Why would I ever be mad at you for doing something so thoughtful?"

She tugged his shirt gently, her tone softening into a sweet plea. "I just panicked. I'm not used to being affectionate in front of a crowd, that's why I dodged you."

Claire's soft, sweet, coaxing tone chipped away at Miles's rigid posture, the icy tension in his eyes melting slightly.

He looked down at her. "Then why were you in such a bad mood when you got home?"

Claire choked on her words. "I... did you eat dinner yet?"

"Don't change the subject," Miles countered smoothly, refusing to let her dodge the question.

Claire bit her lip, stumbling over her words.

"It's just that... someone mentioned our dynamic felt a little like..."

"Like what?"

Claire gritted her teeth and just ripped the band-aid off. "Like legally married friends with benefits."

The air in the room instantly turned to lead. His voice was freezing cold as it echoed from above her.

"Who said that?"

Claire didn't dare look him in the eye, and she definitely wasn't going to throw Chloe under the bus. She lied quickly. "I saw a post online."

His face hardened into stone. The silence stretched agonizingly long before he repeated every word with deliberate precision.

"Friends with benefits?"

"Claire, is that what you think we are?"

Claire's voice shattered into breathless pieces. "Let's go back to the bedroom."

He ignored her entirely. "No. Right here."

Hours later, Claire was entirely delirious.

Miles eventually carried her back to bed. She burrowed deep into the blankets, but he gently coaxed her out, meticulously rubbing the cooling ointment over her sore muscles.

The medicine felt soothing, and Claire squinted lazily, a massive wave of exhaustion crashing over her. Her mind went completely blank, her head nodding off like a sleepy kitten.

Miles cupped the back of her head, gently guiding her onto a plush pillow.

In her half-asleep haze, she heard him on a phone call.

"Yes, for the Grandview Heights property. I want custom flooring throughout the entire space. Thick cashmere rugs."

"The thicker the better. She runs cold, and she refuses to wear her slippers."

Claire's groggy mind tried to process it. Was he ordering custom carpets just for her? She was too exhausted to open her eyes, but a warm, fluttering sensation blossomed in her chest.

She still didn't have all the answers, but she was absolutely certain of one thing: Chloe was entirely wrong.

As she drifted off, only one coherent thought remained in her brain.

The absolute golden rule of this marriage: Never, under any circumstances, provoke Dr. Zimmerman in bed.