Trouble in Paradise (Arianna and Nicholas) novel Chapter 650

When faced with someone's direct concern, I often found myself at a loss. Especially when that person was someone you once thought should disappear from your life.

The doctor had said I could be discharged, but Nicholas insisted I eat something before leaving. I could only agree.

I thought it would be something simple, like a bowl of oatmeal, but the hospital room door was knocked on repeatedly, and one insulated food container after another was delivered.

When everything was delivered, Nicholas opened each container, set everything on the table, and then called me over to eat.

The more genuine he was, the harder it became for me to navigate the boundaries of our interaction. I couldn't bring myself to accept it wholeheartedly. Yet, in a way, I found myself disarmed by his sincerity.

He didn't even do much—he didn't push for clarification about our relationship—but something as simple as the way he handed me a spoon when I glanced at the soup bowl was enough to leave me emotionally drained.

I took a sip of the soup. Its gentle warmth seemed to soothe every corner of my heart.

"What are you planning to do about Frances?" I asked.

Nicholas' brow furrowed slightly, and his hand, which was serving food, paused. "She nearly took your life. She must face justice for what she's done—and for my father, she must pay with her life."

Pay with her life… I set my utensils down and looked seriously in his direction.

"Nicholas."

"Hm? Why did you stop eating? You've had so little. Come on, eat a bit more," he said, gazing at me as though no one else in the world existed, his hand still picking up food for me.

It felt like there was a ball of cotton lodged in my chest—neither breathing in nor out could ease the discomfort.

I was really foolish.

He blinked playfully, a sly grin on his face. "Please give me the chance to take care of you."

I couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "I have money."

"Alright, alright. I know you're the richest," he said with a resigned smile, picking up my spoon and placing it in my hand. "But for now, just focus on feeding yourself properly."

I looked at him, rubbing the spoon between my fingers. "Didn't you once say I've never handled a case for you? Now I want to help, and you're refusing?"

His expression froze, his movements stilled, and his eyes seemed to hold a thousand unsaid words.

"Eat your food, my dear," he finally said with a wry smile, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What can I do when you've already said that?"