Chapter 190: An Old Wound
It wasn't until late in the night that everything concluded. Before Nathaniel fully regained consciousness, he was tightly embracing Cecilia. She glanced at the sterile cup beside him, containing something she had struggled to acquire. Knowing it was time to leave, she tried to pull away from his embrace, but he held her tighter. Left with no choice, she stealthily hid the cup under the bed, intending to retrieve it after he finished his work the next day.
Looking up at the soundly sleeping Nathaniel, Cecilia felt a pang of guilt. Silently, she confessed, "When I apologized earlier, I was sincere. My apology wasn't for faking my death and leaving, but for what happened this time... you forcefully impregnated me with Elliot and Jonathan." She didn't feel she had betrayed him, yet keeping the truth from him felt wrong. Nevertheless, she had to do it; it was the only way to keep her children.
At dawn, Nathaniel awoke with a slight headache. He looked down at Cecilia, still in his arms, and relaxed, holding her closer. Then, he noticed an old scar on her back, resembling a knife wound. Cecilia, now awake, was about to rise when Nathaniel asked, "What's the story behind that injury?"
Cecilia was taken aback. Looking at him, sadness and resentment filled her gaze. "You don't remember?" The injury was from when she shielded him; the fact that he'd forgotten stung deeply. She felt both Nathaniel and Zachary were equally ungrateful.
Nathaniel, genuinely without recollection, asked, "When did this happen?"
Cecilia's voice was hoarse. "When I was seventeen," she replied. It was when Nathaniel first took charge of the Rainsworth Group. He'd been on the verge of attack—from a Rainsworth faction or a rival company—and she'd saved him. Many in the Rainsworth family knew this, yet he had forgotten.
Nathaniel's hand fell on the wound, his gaze gloomy. "Who did this?" he asked.
Cecilia shook her head. "I'm not sure. We didn't catch the perpetrator."
After a moment of silence, Nathaniel lowered his head and gently kissed her. It was his way of comforting others, though Cecilia deftly dodged the kiss.
"It's getting late; you should go to the office," she suggested, having achieved her goal and no longer desiring intimacy.
His brows furrowed at her sudden indifference. Just last night, she had been passionate. He held her tightly, refusing to let go. "I'm not going to the office." He savored the moment, attempting to kiss her cheeks, nose, lips—his desires insatiable. But Cecilia, unmoved, turned her face away.
He noticed her every move, though he didn't understand her fluctuating mood. He had been restraining himself for far too long. Soon, midday sunlight filtered in.
Cecilia stopped him. "I'm hungry. I want to eat."
He relented, holding her. "Sure, I'll have some food delivered." Caressing her hair, he was gentler than ever before. "Let me hold you a little longer."
Cecilia found him peculiar. Just days ago, he'd claimed to dislike her, yet now he acted quite fond.