Chapter 43: Don't Think Too Highly of Me

Maggie probably didn't expect his words. Unable to help herself, she looked at him, lightly laughing and saying, "So, Mr. Harris, you also have some intriguing thoughts."

Nathael squinted, met her gaze, and his voice grew husky. "Maggie, don't hold me in such high regard."

It sounded like advice, yet also like a warning.

Maggie locked eyes with him for a few seconds, neither confirming nor denying. Then she withdrew her gaze, leaned on the railing, and casually said, "But you're already talented."

She realized it too late.

Under the serene night sky, Nathael's thin lips were lightly pursed. A woman—draped in a light brown blanket, her hair dancing in the night breeze—possessed a delicate face carrying an unusual gentleness. The cigarette between his fingers burned slowly; Nathael remained unwilling to look away.

The cruise ship on the river emitted intermittent whistles. After admiring the night scenery for a while, Maggie felt a slight chill with the autumn air.

With a hint of mischief, she turned and said, "Mr. Harris, I'd like some hand-brewed coffee."

Her straightforwardness held a touch of uninhibited playfulness.

Nathael remained silent, quietly watching her.

An indulgent aura surrounded her. Not hurrying for his response, as if certain of his compliance, she blinked her dewy eyes, patiently awaiting his answer.

Nathael's Adam's apple moved slightly; his beautiful eyes were deep and tranquil. He seemed to exert great restraint, holding something back. Having reached the pinnacle of suppression, it was as if ripples appeared on the sea's surface, hidden currents surging beneath, ready to break free.

Seeing him unmoved, Maggie deliberately approached, leaning in front of him. Tipping her head like a mischievous fox, she asked, "Mr. Harris?"

Nathael's gaze swept over her tender lips, suppressing his desire. He averted his gaze, took her hand, and turned toward the living room.

The warm touch left Maggie stunned. She followed him, still dazed.

Unable to resist, she curled her fingers and lightly scratched his palm. When Nathael warned her with a glance, she obediently stopped.

Maggie suddenly craved hand-brewed coffee, the kind Nathael made. Unfortunately, their last coffee beans had run out. Maggie pouted.

Nathael let her have her way, saying, "Let's go together."

"Great!" Maggie's happiness returned. It was nice to go out with him, especially on such a beautiful night.

She hurried to her room to change, and when she reappeared, Nathael was tinkering with her coffee filter.

"Let's go." Maggie spoke gently, and Nathael nodded. As he turned, his gaze fell on her neck, but he subconsciously furrowed his brow, his expression turning colder.

Puzzled, Maggie touched her neck. "What's wrong?"

In the next moment, he removed her hand. His warm fingertips touched her snowy white neck, brushing over a faint purplish bruise. His voice was cold. "Who did this?"

"Huh?" Maggie didn't react immediately, completely forgetting the incident hours earlier when William almost strangled her. People often focus on results; she had won, achieving her goal, so she naturally forgot the pain.

Nathael's thin lips tightened; his dark eyes seemed to hide a storm.

Maggie turned to a nearby mirror and remembered the incident upon seeing the bruise. The lighting had been dim earlier, and she'd been wrapped in a blanket, concealing it. Now, in her low-cut sweater, the bruise was prominent.

Just as Maggie considered how to explain, his slightly cool lips gently pressed against her neck. Nathael lowered his head, gently caressing her neck with concern and restraint.

The delicate, tingling sensation was somewhat ticklish. Maggie's breath hitched; inexplicably, the situation felt ambiguous.

Nathael slowly raised his head, his voice hoarse. "Maggie, what do you desire?"

Maggie's eyelashes trembled as she looked at him and asked earnestly, "Can it be anything?"

Nathael's pupils were as dark as the deep sea. He stared at her for a long time, then sighed resignedly. "Yes."

Maggie's eyes welled up; she smiled softly. What a fool I am!

She knew this was probably the best opportunity, one of his rare commitments. She didn't have to give anything, yet could make impolite and excessive requests. He had, in her presence, tacitly allowed her teasing repeatedly, and even ignored her repeated calculations.

Nathael silently waited for her answer, torturing himself with possibilities. The Chronopolis project? The Spectral Port project? His Harris shares in her possession? Or even for Joseph's sake? His heart felt tightly gripped, awaiting fate's judgment. He knew the answer would disappoint him, yet he was driven by a maddening desire to fulfill all her wishes, like the most devout believer. It was both laughable and insane.

"I already told you I want your brewed coffee," Maggie said with a light laugh, giving an unexpected answer.

Nathael stared at her, dazed. Her eyes were gentle and clear, like crystal-clear water. As if, at that moment, it was her greatest desire.

Nathael's Adam's apple moved slightly, and he said slowly, "Okay."

The moon shone brightly, the stars scattered, the night calm. Silently, they went to the nearby supermarket, like any ordinary couple. Maggie picked two types of coffee beans and bought some fruits and vegetables. She planned to go home, but Nathael pulled her toward a nearby pharmacy.

"We need anti-inflammatory and pain relief medicine."

The elderly pharmacist, wearing thick glasses, glanced at them, then wore an expression of understanding, retrieving two ointments. "These two have better effects, but use them in moderation, even after application."

Nathael picked up the ointments. Hearing the pharmacist, his long fingers hesitated.

Maggie was puzzled. "Why use them in moderation?" Did she need to restrict movement for a small bruise?

The balance information at the end is unrelated to the story and has been removed.