“Buzz—”
A sudden vibration cut through the air.
Startled, Henry yanked his hand back and stood up in a flash, shoving Lydia off the bed without hesitation.
Woken by the jolt, Lydia opened her eyes in a daze—only to have a bundle of clothes flung straight at her face.
She instinctively scrambled backwards on the floor, eyes wide, before finally reacting and grabbing the clothes off her head.
“You sure sleep well,” came Henry’s sarcastic voice from above.
Lydia’s pupils trembled as she looked up.
Henry stared down at her, cold and disdainful.
“I guess it doesn’t matter whose bed it is—you can sleep just fine.”
—What do you mean by that?
Lydia bit her lip and raised her hand to question him.
“Still pretending?” Henry leaned down, gripping her chin with a sneer.
“Last night, weren’t you the one who crawled into my bed while I was asleep?
Saying no while your body’s begging for it—what a joke.
I didn’t give you what you wanted, is that it?
Disappointed?”
—Henry, don’t push it.
Last night, clearly it was you…
Getting insulted like this first thing in the morning—how could Lydia take it?
Eyes stinging, she glared back stubbornly.
“Oh yeah?
I forced you to climb into my bed, is that it?”
“…”
Lydia gave a bitter shake of her head.
So she stopped trying.
“Nothing to say now?
Hah.
Take that blanket and toss it.
I don’t want it anymore.”
Henry flung her hand away and picked up the phone.
Lydia lowered her head, silently stood, and changed the bedding before walking out with the blanket in her arms.
Inside the room, Henry glanced back at her retreating figure, his expression unreadable.
The call had already connected, the voice on the other end calling “hello” repeatedly.
“What is it?” Henry asked coolly after lifting the phone.
“Mr.
Lawson, there’s an issue at the office,” Jeffery Clark reported urgently.
“Wait there,” Henry replied, a cold edge in his voice as he hung up.
On her way downstairs with the blanket, Lydia bumped into Martha.
“Lydia, what are you doing with that?” Martha asked, surprised.
—He told me to throw it out.
Lydia forced a weak smile and didn’t elaborate.
Everyone knew she’d gone into Henry’s room last night and never came out—it didn’t take much to imagine what they were thinking.
Martha sighed softly, torn between speaking and staying silent.
In the end, she just said gently, “Lydia, Mr. Get faster updates on g.com.
Lawson’s been through a lot.
He can be harsh, but deep down…
he’s not all bad.
No matter what he says or does, don’t take it too much to heart.”
—Okay.
Lydia gave a bitter smile.
Martha had always hoped to settle things between them—but things between her and Henry were far messier than a simple “don’t take it personally” could fix.
She didn’t toss the blanket like he said—instead, she snuck it into the laundry room, planning to clean it herself later and save it away.
When she returned to the living room, she saw Henry coming down the stairs, now in a sharply tailored black suit.
She quickly ducked her head and stepped aside, only to freeze when he stopped directly in front of her.
“What’s wrong?
Feeling guilty?
Can’t even look at me?”
—No…
Lydia slowly shook her head.
“Then why are you hiding?” Henry scoffed.
—I’m not.
Lydia’s eyes turned red, clearly hurt.
“Drop the fake pity party.”
Henry grimaced at her trembling expression.
“Starting now, unless I say so, don’t leave my sight.”
—Why?!
Lydia’s head snapped up, stunned and more than a little angry.