The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 239

Claire stood there with her toothbrush in her mouth, staring blankly at the tiny black lace garments for a full thirty seconds.

She reached out to touch them. They were still slightly damp, definitely washed just last night, and exuded the familiar, faint scent of her detergent.

Her mind was entirely muddled.

Did she really wash them? But why couldn't she recall doing it at all?

Was she so exhausted from the hospital that she blacked out? Or did she start sleepwalking?

As Claire finished washing up, she racked her brain, but her memory of the event remained completely blank.

The only thing looping in her mind were the chaotic, explicit images from her dreams last night.

Miles gripping her hand, dragging it over deeply intimate places.

Wild, passionate, completely unhinged...

She stared at her slightly reddened palm. She was losing her mind—the dream had felt too incredibly real.

She spat out the toothpaste foam and splashed cold water onto her face, barely managing to calm her racing thoughts.

After getting dressed, she walked out of the bedroom, only to freeze in her tracks once again.

The mountain of greasy takeout boxes on the coffee table was gone. Even the trash can had a fresh liner, and the pungent smell of food leftovers was completely scrubbed from the air, leaving everything fresh and pristine.

Now Claire was absolutely certain she hadn't done this. Even sleepwalking, she was never this productive.

The most impossible thought bubbled up in her mind.

Did Miles actually come back last night?

Even the trash can next to the sofa was placed exactly where he always left it.

So... he had personally washed her underwear too.

What on earth was happening? Weren't they in a cold war on the verge of divorce? And he was still washing her panties?

Picturing his tall, broad frame hunched over the sink, carefully scrubbing those two tiny pieces of black lace—the contrast was staggering.

Claire bit her lip, her cheeks burning uncontrollably.

The kitten was nestled in his little swing bed, his tail swishing lazily back and forth.

Normally at this hour, the moment he saw her bringing food, the little guy would be bounding over, purring to suck up to her.

Today, entirely out of character, he didn't even glance her way.

"Marmalade? Not hungry?" Claire poured kibble into his bowl and even pulled out a treat stick, but Marmalade remained totally indifferent.

He just narrowed his eyes, licked his paw, and rolled over to go back to sleep, clearly already full and content.

Claire stood up.

Were housekeeping services really this hardcore nowadays? Not only did they wash your underwear, but they also fed the cat?

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, stopping in the entryway to change her shoes.

On the console table sat a takeout bag, inside which was a neatly wrapped sandwich.

The edges of the bread were perfectly toasted, stuffed with tomatoes, grilled chicken breast, and a touch of mustard—a combination impossible to find in stores. It was her absolute favorite.