Chapter 205 Don't Come Closer
Her teeth were gritted, hands quivering as they clutched the scissors. A smile played on her lips, but her eyes welled up with unshed tears.
In a flurry, she arranged the flowers with little regard for their aesthetic appeal. She placed the scissors down and announced, "I'll head home to prepare. Tomorrow, I'll divorce him."
William, sensing the depth of her sorrow, felt a pang of discomfort at the thought of her returning home alone. "You don't need to go home," he said. He knew that once she was there, she would be left to her own devices.
Even if Alexander was present, his kindness towards her would be scarce, if at all.
"He mentioned he would bring the documents to the city hall tomorrow. You don't need to return home. I'll escort you directly to the city hall. It's not far from here."
Ava murmured, a forced smile on her face, "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
But the smile didn't reach her eyes. She couldn't truly smile.
William reassured her, "There's nothing wrong with it. You had planned to stay at my place for a few days anyway. Don't let this situation disrupt your plans. He's not worth it."
He genuinely believed that Alexander wasn't deserving of Ava's love. However, love is blind. The person involved doesn't care about worthiness—if they did, it wouldn't be true love.
Taking a deep breath, Ava conceded, "You're right, he's not worth it. I…I'll go to my room to rest for a bit."
Suddenly, she felt a wave of nausea. Covering her mouth, she bolted upstairs.
Concerned, William followed her.
Ava rushed into the restroom, hunched over the toilet, and retched violently, emptying the contents of her stomach.
As William was about to step forward, Ava screamed, "Don't come any closer!"
He halted at the bathroom doorway, not daring to intrude.
Ava leaned over the toilet for a long time, gasping for breath between bouts of vomiting and coughing. Eventually, there was nothing left to expel. She flushed the toilet and stood up shakily, using the sink for support as she tried to regain her composure. After rinsing her mouth and washing her face, she forced herself to wake up.
Tears mingled with water droplets on her face, indistinguishable from the tap water or her own grief.
Staring at her disheveled reflection, her legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor.
William rushed forward, catching her from behind and cradling her in his arms, his voice heavy with concern, "Ava, are you okay?"
Ava was limp in his arms, as if her soul had departed.
William scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom, where he gently laid her on the bed.
"Ava, if there's something weighing on your mind, you can talk to me. Don't keep it bottled up inside."
Ava sat expressionless, silent, her gaze hollow and lifeless.
William was deeply concerned. He sat on the edge of the bed, softly touched her forehead, and pulled the covers over her legs.
He sat beside her in silence, keeping her company.
Her eyes were downcast, and she looked like a discarded porcelain doll—fragile and helpless.
William wanted to hold her in his arms, to hug her tightly and not let go, to tell her that he was there for her, to be her safe haven. However, common sense told him not to; she might not welcome it.
After about ten minutes, Ava suddenly spoke, "He promised me he would keep his distance from Isabella. These last few days, he really did. He hardly took her calls, and if he did, he wouldn't go to her. Every night in bed, he would hold me close, and I felt like I had my husband all to myself."
