Chapter 195 Rage and Jealousy
Ava's hand found his, pressing it firmly against the swell of her belly. Even through the barrier of her clothing, her skin radiated an unnatural heat, the fever within her burning fiercely. "The baby needs its father," she implored, her voice a desperate plea. "Don't abandon us. Even if you've lost your love for me, you can't forsake your own child."
Her words hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for him to stay. As she spoke, Ava's strength seemed to wane, her body sagging against his in exhaustion. Yet, even in her drowsy state, fear gripped her, the terror of him leaving her alone once again. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if her life depended on it.
"Let's take your temperature," William suggested gently, his voice a soothing balm against her fevered state.
"Promise me first," she insisted, her voice stubborn despite her weakness. "Promise me you won't leave again. Promise me you won't see Isabella anymore."
"Alright, I promise," he replied, his voice steady. He could make such a promise with ease, willing to give her anything she desired. Yet, the bitter irony was that he wasn't Alexander, the man she yearned for.
'Does that man even comprehend the treasure he has in Ava?' William wondered, his thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and envy. 'He takes her for granted, always playing the victim, while those who would cherish her can never seem to win her heart. It's maddening.
'Is Alexander truly that exceptional? No, he's not a good man. It's all down to luck. Luck outweighs effort. He has Ava, all because of sheer luck.'
"Pinky promise?" Ava proposed, her voice childlike as she extended her small finger towards him. Her innocent, pitiful expression tugged at heartstrings, her vulnerability laid bare.
William lifted his hand, his eyes softening with tender affection. A gentle smile graced his lips, his gaze indulgent, akin to the way one would look at a cherished child. His pinky finger entwined with hers, sealing their promise with a thumbprint.
For a fleeting moment, a delusion overtook William. He imagined Ava as his wife, the unborn child within her his own. But reality soon reasserted itself, reminding him of the harsh truth. She was delirious, her fever and heartbreak causing her to mistake him for Alexander—the man she both loved and resented.
Deep down, she yearned for Alexander's presence, not his.
Yet, he played along, as if under a spell. Jealousy gnawed at him, bitterness welling up for Alexander who took for granted what others could only dream of, only to discard it with a litany of excuses.
Everyone has their inner demons, and William was no exception. A dark part of him reveled in the fact that Alexander had wronged Ava, that he hadn't cherished her as he should have. It meant there was a glimmer of hope for others.
He even found himself wishing Alexander would be more callous, pushing Ava to the brink of despair.
He knew such thoughts were wrong, that he couldn't bear to see Ava in pain. Yet, some emotions were wild, untamed, much like Ava's uncontrolled love for Alexander, her tears shed for his sake.
Everyone harbored selfish desires, moments of blindness, and times of reckless abandon.
After their pinky promise, Ava's strength finally gave out. She collapsed into his arms, her voice barely a whisper. Her fever caused her to squirm uncomfortably in his embrace.
William placed a thermometer in her mouth, waiting patiently before removing it and frowning at the reading.
He couldn't give her medicine. She was pregnant.
Carefully, he laid Ava on the bed, tucking her in before fetching a wet towel from the bathroom. Physical cooling was the best he could do, praying her immune system would fight off the fever.
He draped the cool towel over her forehead, taking her hand in his as he watched over her. He was so engrossed in his vigil that he didn't notice the door had been left slightly ajar.
Outside, Victoria leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed as she observed the scene with a keen interest.
