Kian Hawthorne returned to his room to shower. The hot water washed away most of his exhaustion.
He thought about Leah Sinclair’s reaction. She had been dumped halfway and caught in the rain, yet she hadn’t thrown a temper. Upon returning home, she was even focused on reading her academic papers.
She truly had a good temper. It was her greatest asset as a high-society wife.
He came out in his loungewear, walked to the kitchen door, and leaned against the frame, watching her from behind. Her nightgown was very baggy, resembling a student’s style. It made him involuntarily imagine the subtle emptiness in his embrace when he wrapped his arms around her slender body from behind. A few stray strands of hair clung to the back of her neck, looking a bit itchy.
"What exactly did you put in that clear noodle soup?" he asked her back.
Leah froze for a moment.
"Nothing much. Soy sauce, salt, scallions. That’s all."
"Then why is it so fragrant?"
"Noodles are naturally fragrant."
He walked over, raised his arm to wrap around her waist, and pulled her against him. Leah stiffened all over.
"The soup you make is clear, and it tastes exceptionally good," he gently rested his chin on her shoulder. "How do you do it?"
She smelled the perfume on him. Another woman’s. Even a shower hadn’t washed it away.
"Don’t bring the water to a rolling boil. Keep it at a gentle simmer, and skim off any foam. That’s how you cook the best-tasting noodles."
"So that’s the secret," he smiled faintly.
She guessed why he was asking—so he could have that other woman cook it for him in the future.
Leah served the noodles into a bowl while Kian stood by, watching.
"Are you really not angry?" he suddenly asked.
Leah paused while sprinkling the scallions and asked in return, "Angry about what?"
Kian noticed that momentary stiffness. He sneered inwardly. As expected, she was faking it; she was actually very angry and cared deeply.
Using a strategy of feigned magnanimity at a time like this obviously couldn’t pique his interest. If she threw a little tantrum, perhaps he would coax her, buy her a designer bag, and their marital relationship would take a step forward. This was what happened when she didn’t socialize in the wives’ circle. If she didn’t take the initiative to learn, how long would it take for her to figure out her husband’s psychology?
Pretending to be unfazed was even more irritating. He couldn’t resist provoking her. "I really appreciate your magnanimity tonight, Mrs. Hawthorne."
Leah had just placed the bowl of noodles on the dining table. Hearing this, her heart felt another sharp stab of pain. She didn’t understand why he had to be like this. Why did he have to trample on even her pride?
Leah turned around slowly and looked at him. Lifting the hem of her gown, she gave a slight curtsy.
"As you wish."
Then she turned, walked back to her room, and shut the door.
CLICK. The sound was crisp.
Kian’s expression darkened slightly. What was she so arrogant about? She didn’t even know how to say a few sweet words to please her husband.
He picked up his chopsticks and ate the noodles. It was the delicious taste he remembered. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at the closed door, recalling how she had looked just a moment ago. Slender, delicate, yet stubborn.
Among the wives’ circle in Florian, his wife was the most unique, completely unlike those cookie-cutter socialites. His grandmother was rushing him, so he couldn’t leave her hanging for too long. Once he was past this busy period, he would properly coax her.
Kian finished the noodles, put down his chopsticks, and stood up. Leaving the bowl on the table, he walked away.
As he passed through the living room, his phone buzzed. His assistant had sent a document with an image attached. It was a family crest featuring a rivercrest pattern, shaped like a horizontal capital ’S’.
Diana Carter: [The person who reported us left this crest behind.]
It was identical to the one left by the person who had outbid everyone at the charity gala. Kian stared at the image for a few seconds, his brows furrowing tighter.
Who in the world was it?
***
Early the next morning, Leah received a call from the hospital. Her uncle’s cancer cells had spread, and he needed a second surgery immediately.
When she rushed over, her uncle had just been given a sedative and was sleeping. Director Rowe invited Leah into his office and closed the door. His tone was heavy.
"Young Madam, your uncle’s condition can’t be delayed any longer. Can you actually secure the P Drug or not?"
Leah felt a mess of anxiety. She pursed her lips. "I can. But I need time."
Director Rowe fell silent for a few seconds. "Young Madam, we can’t wait. If the new drug doesn’t arrive, we must proceed with a second round of chemotherapy within three days."
"My uncle’s body can’t handle chemo anymore."
"If you refuse the chemo," Director Rowe looked at her, "the only remaining option is conservative treatment."
Conservative treatment simply meant helplessly watching the cancer cells devour her uncle’s body as he agonizingly waited for death.
Leah walked out of the office. The corridor was long, and the fluorescent lights were blindingly white. She stood there for a moment, took out her phone, and dialed Kian’s number.
It rang for a long time before he answered.
"I’m on a business trip and will be away for a week," his voice was indifferent. "What is it?"
"When will my uncle’s medicine arrive? The doctor says we can only wait three days at most."
There was a pause on the other end.
Kian sneered. "Your uncle again. Leah, if your family didn’t need favors from me, would you even call me?"
Leah’s fingers tightened around her phone. She didn’t say a word.
"Wait," his tone suddenly changed, as if he were flipping through something. "Diana just reported that she’s secured the drug. She’ll bring it over to you right now."
Before she could even say thank you, he hung up. The dial tone beeped monotonously in her ear.
At noon, the inpatient department was bustling with people. Leah had just finished feeding her uncle some soup when Diana Carter arrived.
She stood by the hospital bed for a moment before turning around to look at Leah with exaggerated deference. "Mrs. Hawthorne, may I have a word? I have something to report to you."
Leah glanced at her, set down the bowl, and led her to the reception room.
Diana took a box of medicine from her bag. Leah’s heart skipped a beat.
"Mrs. Hawthorne, this is the P Drug. It was very difficult to get." Diana raised an eyebrow. "Please stop making malicious complaints about me to Mr. Hawthorne."
Ignoring her remark, Leah took the medicine and carefully read the instructions on the box. It was produced by the new pharmaceutical company in Country A. The packaging, batch number, and manual all checked out.
Diana stood up and offered a faint smile. "Mrs. Hawthorne, if you are satisfied, I’ll take my leave now."
After taking two steps, she stopped and turned back around. "Oh, right. Mr. Hawthorne is on vacation this week. Did he mention that to you?"
"Vacation?" Leah remembered the phone call from that morning. He had said he was on a business trip and would be away for a week.
"Miss Shaw’s father’s grave is being relocated," Diana said at a leisurely pace. "Mr. Hawthorne found a feng shui master for her a few months ago and spent millions on it. For this relocation, he is handling everything personally."
Leah’s joints tightened, her nails digging into her palms. He handled Selene Shaw’s affairs personally, yet repeatedly dodged hers and pawned them off on others?
"My husband already told me," her voice was incredibly flat, so flat it didn’t even sound like her own. "There was no need for you to go out of your way to inform me."
She paused.
"By the way, Secretary Carter. I’ve suddenly decided I don’t like the title ’Mrs. Hawthorne.’ From now on, you will call me ’Young Madam.’"
Diana’s jawline tensed. Her brows knitted together, and her gaze turned hostile.
Leah recalled Josh Sterling’s words: A small nation that refuses to humble itself is doomed to perish.
She smiled faintly. "What’s the matter? Can’t bring yourself to say it?"
Diana clenched her back teeth and lowered her eyes. "Young Madam."
"Say it more often, and you’ll get used to it," Leah said indifferently. "You may leave."
Diana clenched her fists, turned, and walked away briskly.
Leah walked out of the reception room with the medicine box in hand, but her footsteps came to a halt.
Josh Sterling was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her quietly. She had no idea how long he had been standing there.
It seemed he had overheard everything she just said.