Chapter 5: It's Not None of My Business

"What… what price?" Maggie instinctively turned to face him.

They stood very close. As she turned, her cheek brushed lightly against his lips.

Maggie was momentarily stunned, feeling a cool, soft touch. Instantly, a fiery sensation erupted, spreading rapidly from the point of contact and burning her cheek.

Nathael's pupils were dark. He didn't give her a chance to speak. His large hand cupped her chin, and he passionately kissed her. The kiss was soft and tender, carrying the sweetness he'd longed for in his dreams. Nathael felt the caged beast in his heart released, its deepest desire surging towards her.

Maggie's body tensed; she froze. In her previous life, despite being married to Nathael for years, they had never consummated their marriage. Insecure about her appearance and blindness, and harboring resentment, she hated him, the "instigator." How could she accept his touch? Their calmest moments were likely when she was too tired to protest and simply coexisted, sleeping in the same bed.

Nathael forcefully parted her lips, pouring his long-repressed emotions into a passionate kiss. The scent was rich, their bodies entwining desperately.

Maggie felt a tingling sensation spread from her tailbone to every limb. Her mind went blank, enveloped by his cold cedar scent. When she regained her senses, she instinctively tried to pull away. But Nathael wouldn't let her, pressing her back until she hit a wall-mounted cabinet, rattling the porcelain. She was trapped. Her breathing grew heavier, unease rising in her heart.

Then she remembered his words from the car: "Maggie, don't regret this!"

Her heart pounded; the world seemed to quiet. Maggie panted, trying to relax. Was it just a kiss? Even sharing a bed had made her nervous and uneasy.

But Maggie was inexperienced. She remained stiff until she felt his slender fingers on her back, slowly pulling down her zipper. The faint but piercing sound of the metal slider sent a tremor through her. Inch by inch, her skin was exposed.

"Nathael… um…"

"No!" Maggie instinctively pushed his hand away from under her skirt, her eyelashes wet with tears.

His beautiful eyes burned with desire. Looking down at her, his voice was hoarse. "I warned you. Don't provoke me again."

Maggie stared, speechless. Was she willing to accept him? She'd never considered it, but the image of him shooting himself and falling before her grave caused a heart-wrenching pain. Perhaps she was willing. But not now—not unprepared, not when he was disappointed, not when he used this as leverage.

She'd been used and manipulated her whole life. She wouldn't let it continue. With this thought, Maggie pushed Nathael away.

She heard him grunt, suppressing pain. A faint scent of blood filled the air. Maggie froze, noticing a vivid crimson stain spreading across his white shirt. The contrast was shocking.

She looked up. His expression was unchanged, but sweat beaded on his forehead.

"You're injured?" Maggie asked anxiously, realizing she'd touched his wound.

The romantic atmosphere vanished as Nathael's lips tightened. He turned away, commanding, "Leave."

Maggie didn't obey. She followed him, reaching for his arm. "Let me see."

Nathael scoffed, giving her a cold stare. "Do you even know what you're saying?" Maggie was speechless, realizing the awkward location of his wound, but… recalling everything he'd done for her in her previous life, she made up her mind.

Her cheeks flushed. "Sit down. Let me examine your wound," she said thoughtfully.

Maggie guided Nathael to the couch, gently but firmly. He watched her silently, curiosity in his gaze. Kneeling before him, she unbuttoned his shirt with pale fingers. Partially undone, she saw a bandage on his left side, with bright red blood seeping through.

"Where's the first-aid kit?" she asked urgently.

Nathael remained silent. Maggie refrained from asking again.

She searched the cabinets. During their marriage, she'd often been injured, so the kit was usually prominent. Not this time. Finally, Nathael, unable to resist, said in a low voice, "Left side, second drawer." Maggie found it quickly. She retrieved scissors and carefully removed the bandage. Her gentle movements betrayed her nervousness.

Then, his deep voice: "I advise you. This is none of your concern."

Maggie felt his gaze but didn't look up. After removing the bandage, she softly replied, "This is not none of my concern."

Nathael's Adam's apple bobbed; his lifeless heart seemed to stir. Then he mocked himself. What did she want this time? Maggie, unaware of his thoughts, focused on the wound, a pang of sorrow hitting her. The Harris family's succession battles were brutal. Nathael's rise hadn't been easy.

In her previous life, she'd often smelled blood on him, mixed with cedar, keeping her awake. The romantic atmosphere was long gone.

Maggie tended to his wound—a ten-centimeter scar, seemingly old but still raw and deep. Sorrow overwhelmed her. Had she ever truly cared for him?

Ten minutes passed in silence. Nathael watched her meticulous care, wondering if it hinted at concern.

"Why?" His voice was hoarse. Maggie paused, meeting his intense gaze.

His phoenix eyes held her, stubbornly seeking an answer. Why? Why did she suddenly care about his life and death?