The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 245

Leaving the private room, Claire pulled Betty along, checking her up and down to ensure she hadn't suffered any other abuse before letting out a breath of relief.

"Do you feel sick? I'll take you to the hospital."

Betty shook her head. "I'm fine. My friend is waiting outside, I'll go home with her."

"Okay, call me immediately if you feel unwell and go straight to the hospital."

"I know," Betty said, looking at Miles. "Miles, please take Claire home to rest."

"Mmhmm."

Miles nodded, a hum of approval laced into the sound.

Claire shot Betty a glare, but the younger woman just offered a playful shrug and slipped away.

She glanced at Miles. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Nothing. You just never seem to care about me like that."

"Does Mr. Zimmerman really lack people caring about him?" She snatched her purse right out of his hands. "You've been drinking. I'll take a cab home myself."

"Claire, who enabled this bad habit of yours? Using people when you need them and throwing them away the second you're done?"

"Mind your own..." Before she could finish, she let out a startled gasp as Miles scooped her right up into his arms.

"The driver is waiting outside. Stop being stubborn."

Back at Grandview Heights, Miles carried her into the bedroom.

He helped her remove the temporary bandage.

After a moment of silence, he suddenly spoke up. "You're really not wearing the ring?"

Claire frowned. How did he have the nerve to bring that up?

Her voice was cold and guarded. "I don't like it."

"Is it the ring you don't like, or the person who gave it to you?"

She never expected Miles to ask such a question.

Love, affection, likes and dislikes—hearing such sentimental words from a man usually so stoic and aloof felt incredibly jarring.

Claire didn't know how to answer.

He stood up, his tone casual but carrying an undeniable authority.

"A jewelry designer from South Africa is coming to Empire City in a few days. Whatever style you like, get a new one custom-made."

"I don't want a misunderstanding like today's to happen again."

He was referring to people assuming they were divorced.

But with his unattainable ideal back in the country, wasn't divorce inevitable? What was the point of pretending for another day or two?

Claire said coldly, "And what if it's the person who gave it to me that I don't like?"

Miles's movements noticeably slowed.

He didn't look at her, his voice so low it was almost mumbled. "Then try to like me."

Her fingers, resting by her side, curled slightly, wrinkling the bedsheets beneath her hand. For some inexplicable reason, she detected a hint of "begging" in his tone.

His eyes were downcast, his eyelashes masking his emotions as he stayed close to care for her.

He looked a bit like an abandoned golden retriever—quiet and lonely, as if waiting for someone to take pity on him.

Claire was stunned. She must be out of her mind to have such an illusion about the untouchable Zimmerman heir.

He packed up the first aid kit. "Be careful when you shower. Don't let water touch it for the next two days." He turned to leave the bedroom.

"Where are you going this late?"

"Back to the hospital."

He touched her waist, the inside of her arm, and her... By the time she was finally in her nightgown, Miles's ears were burning red, and his breathing was jagged.

"Feeling shy, Dr. Zimmerman?"

Claire curled a slender finger, poking him lightly in the chest.

"You certainly weren't shy when you dragged me into bed with you. Now you're acting like a pure and innocent saint in front of me!"

"Claire..." he murmured, knowing he was entirely at fault, unable to finish his sentence.

She huffed softly and lay down, leaving him half the bed.

Once the lights were off, Claire could feel the deliberate distance he kept between them.

She suddenly found it hard to sleep. In the darkness, she looked at the man beside her, experiencing the true meaning of 'sharing a bed but not a heart' for the first time.

Why hadn't he torn down this facade yet? Did he want to leave her with her final shred of dignity? There was no need for that.

Claire pressed her lips together, staring at the ceiling, her voice feather-light.

"Miles, do you really like Lauren Sinclair that much?"

The bedroom was entirely silent, save for his even, deep breaths.

She turned on her side, and a wave of intense heat radiated toward her. She brushed against Miles's arm, and his skin was terrifyingly hot.

"Miles? Wake up!" She reached out and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Under the light, his usually stoic and aloof face was flushed with an unnatural red, his brows tightly furrowed.

He was burning up so badly that his consciousness was slipping. His breathing was rapid and scalding.

"Miles, you have a fever." Claire struggled to prop him up.

The man collapsed against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his voice hoarse.

"Why... why don't you like me..."