Chapter 238: Posture
“Mr. Gonzales, Frederick treats this woman quite well, not like what this woman said,” a subordinate observed, looking at Frederick hugging Claire and reminding Alan.
Alan’s eyes were filled with excitement. “This is even better.” He mused, “Frederick, whether you love this woman or not, she is your fiancée. For your career and the position of president you are competing for, you will keep her alive. This is what I want. I’m going to give you a taste of great physical and psychological torment. I will avenge Mark.”
Claire and Frederick were unaware of Alan’s gaze. Claire was exhausted and lacked the strength to hug Frederick; her entire weight rested on him. Frederick supported her throughout the night.
The next morning, Claire awoke to the sight of his shoulders before realizing Frederick had been supporting her. His eyes were red, and his body was stiff, as if he’d been awake all night. “Don’t move. My body is stiff,” Frederick ordered.
She asked, “You just held me like this all night?” Claire could hardly believe it. “Otherwise, you would have drowned long ago,” Frederick said unhappily. Claire didn’t respond. The dungeon water was frigid, yet she felt a warmth within.
“Slow down,” Frederick said, shifting his stiff limbs slightly. The water, teeming with snakes and deep, allowed only slow movement. But they clung to each other. Claire felt something hot and hard.
“Frederick! You bastard!” Her legs were still held apart by him, restricting her movement to backing away. Their posture was awkward; moving back slightly would touch his body. She couldn’t help but recall that he always held and spread her legs during their intimacy.
“I am a normal man,” Frederick retorted angrily, glancing at Claire. She moved slowly and reluctantly, touching his body and calling him a bastard.
“You’ve been in the dungeon without rest. And yet…” she began. This required considerable effort to disengage from Frederick. “I held you in my arms all night, and I’ve seen you naked,” Frederick said helplessly. He had held her all night, yet she was not grateful, only complaining. Claire became upset. They had been intimate many times, but that wasn't the reason for his past teasing. She wanted to argue, but the thought of his all-night vigil made her relent.
Frederick had shifted his body throughout the night; it had not been easy to carry her. Fortunately, his years in the army had provided him with excellent physical fitness; otherwise, he wouldn't have managed.
“Are you okay?” Frederick asked, noticing her silence and assuming she still struggled to adapt to the water prison.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Claire replied gently. For some reason, the image of her former arrogant and domineering self flashed through his mind—the beloved daughter of the Prescott family.
“Without any professional training, it’s not bad that you can hold on for such a long time,” Frederick commented. Claire smiled. She moved her legs, touching the hard object in her shoe, remembering Alan’s poisoned dagger and his instructions to stab Frederick.
“Frederick, I…”
Claire observed their nighttime watchers; their weariness gave her an opportunity to tell Frederick. Before she could speak, Alan arrived. “You held your fiancée all night. I didn’t expect that, General Hawthorne, you are still such an affectionate person,” Alan said, looking energetic. He turned to Claire. “Ms. Prescott, since General Hawthorne loves you so much, what are you waiting for?”
Claire was nervous, understanding Alan’s implication, but surprised by his early arrival. Her heart pounded.