Chapter 92

Cynthia had bought the apron long ago, on a whim to learn cooking. However, she'd never actually used it; it ended up on Jonathan instead. Being a woman's apron, it was a bit small for him. The bear apron looked comical on his tall frame, yet he was strikingly handsome.

As the evening sun filtered through the persimmon tree outside the window, dappled light shimmered on Jonathan. His profile, bathed in sunlight, seemed gilded. His focused expression and movements as he chopped vegetables were calm and elegant, as if he were creating a work of art, not simply cooking.

Cynthia leaned against the door, smiling, enjoying the scene. Jonathan noticed her silhouette and turned, seeing her affectionate gaze.

"You're awake," he said.

"Mm-hm," Cynthia hummed in response.

"Give me a second. Dinner will be ready soon. We have your favorite barbecue ribs," he added.

Cynthia walked over, wrapped her arms around his neck, tiptoed, and kissed him. "I think you taste better," she whispered.

Jonathan's eyes darkened; his ears flushed red. "Cynthia, if you keep this up, dinner will be four hours late."

Cynthia quickly let go, stepping back with a surrendering smile. "Okay. Dinner first."

That evening's dinner was sumptuous. Cynthia ate happily, appearing fully recovered. Nevertheless, Jonathan felt a pang in his heart. He mused that she'd endured so much, hiding so much pain. She always healed herself, concealing scars beneath a cheerful exterior. The woman he saw wasn't her whole self.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan finally said.

Cynthia understood his apology, guessing it concerned his fight with Filip, now that he knew her past. "Don't apologize. You never owe me an apology," she said indifferently.

Jonathan felt terrible; she hadn't opened her heart to him. He felt unable to offer her a future and therefore couldn't ask for her trust and reliance.

"Jonathan, please help me find someone," Cynthia suddenly requested.

Jonathan, sensing her thoughts, asked, "Is it Silas?"

Cynthia clenched her fists. "I want him imprisoned for life. I can't let such a scumbag harm others."

The incident had happened; she couldn't dwell on it. She was rational outside her episodes. She wasn't to blame; the perpetrators should pay.

[The following section is unclear and seems to be a continuation of the same chapter. There's a time stamp and a potential chapter break that needs clarification.]

She wanted revenge, making Silas pay. She would testify, even if it meant publicizing her assault. She wouldn't let him escape.

Jonathan replied impassively, "He's dead."

Cynthia was shocked. After a long moment, she asked incredulously, "Were you behind it?"

Jonathan looked at her. "No. He died years ago, two days after the incident. Found drowned in a nearby reservoir. The police ruled it accidental drowning due to intoxication. He had no relatives, so the case was closed quickly."

Cynthia was stunned. After a long silence, she said, "It comes around." She felt uneasy, her heart racing. Something about Silas's death felt wrong.

Jonathan sighed. "He's dead. Let it go, don't torture yourself." He'd recently investigated her medication, discovering the reason for her years of three-hour sleep cycles. His heart ached for her.

He held her hands. "I know this is difficult, but I'll always be here for you, Cynthia. I'll never let go of your hand."

Cynthia seemed stunned, then burst into laughter. "You? Don't act like a loving boyfriend, okay?"

Jonathan sighed inwardly. If I say another word, she'll break up with me.

Cynthia sobered. "Jonathan, I can't love anyone anymore, not even Filip or you. Don't fall for me. Let's be happy together, enjoy our days, okay?"

Jonathan tightened his grip on her hands. "Okay."

Cynthia's life seemed peaceful again, until Lilian disappeared. Filip hadn't contacted her since leaving Quadfield Mansion. Seven days later, she received a message: "[Everything is as you wish it to be.]"

Cynthia stared at the message, sensing reluctance and resentment. Is Lilian and Filip's baby gone? Is this what I wanted?

She wasn't happy. Even their losses didn't compensate for hers—her sleeplessness. The inability to sleep, even with medication, was worse than being stabbed; the wound would heal, but the insomnia gnawed at her nerves, painful, exhausting, tormenting.

Her insomnia worsened. She went back to Hector, who now ran a private clinic.

In his office, Cynthia lounged on the couch. "Why can't I sleep?"

Hector, knowing the truth, replied, "Cynthia, the body is a vessel. It becomes dust. Don't dwell on what it's experienced."

Cynthia played with her hair. "I don't care, but I still can't sleep."

Hector approached her. "Too much is in your heart, untold. It rots there."

Cynthia looked up, confused. "But I told you everything."

Hector was silent. "Perhaps I'm not important to you. Maybe you should open your heart to the person you love, Cynthia."

Cynthia was stunned. The person I love? Who?

This cleaned-up version addresses grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, and flow. It also clarifies some ambiguities. The chapter break still needs to be verified based on the original source material.