Chapter525 Baby, I've Missed You
Opening the takeout container, she found soup.
Natalie hadn't had the time to cook or eat properly for a while, so this soup relaxed her deeply, making her drowsy after finishing it, which she didn't think much of.
Timing his arrival, Oliver waited outside the door, glancing at his watch. After about half an hour, he gingerly used his key to unlock the door.
Oliver listened intently through the door crack, confirming there were no sounds within, before slowly pushing the door open.
Natalie's snug apartment was a modest studio of about five hundred square feet, immaculately clean with a couple of books casually resting on the sofa.
Oliver couldn't help but crack a soft smile upon entering—classic Natalie, books within arm's reach.
To the left lay the bedroom where, on a cozy full-size bed, a curly mop of hair peeked out from the covers, with a pale hand draped along the edge.
Oliver's heartbeat skipped a beat.
"Natalie?"
"Natalie?" he called out gently, approaching. There was no response; the sleeping figure was undisturbed.
He had mixed a sleep-aid into her soup; she wouldn't wake until the morning.
Gently, Oliver pulled the bedcover down to reveal Natalie's face half-buried in her pillow. She used to sleep flat or sometimes on her side, but now she was curled up tight. Psychology says that such a fetal position is a defensive posture, indicative of internal unrest.
"Baby, what are you scared of?" Oliver whispered tenderly as he brushed her hair away from her face and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She remained deeply asleep, unresponsive.
Carefully, he uncovered her right leg from beneath the comforter. In her sleep, she instinctively retracted her leg, recoiling from his touch. A pang of sympathy seized Oliver as he remembered what the psychologist had said.
It turned out, Natalie's improved effort to eat was not because he agreed to the divorce, but because she had sought help from a psychologist on her own.
The news of the divorce wasn't spread by her. She was, in fact, the one most hurt by it. She had even approached the psychologist alone, without anyone else's support.
Oliver knew too well the helplessness of seeking medical advice alone; patients in front of doctors can feel like mere subjects for study, leaving one feeling vulnerable and useless.
"Natalie, don't be afraid, don't be afraid," he murmured soothingly, though his hushing was unheard by someone deep under the influence of sleeping pills.
He methodically took out the ointments he’d brought to treat Natalie's leg wounds, including a scar-prevention cream.
Her shin and knee both had superficial injuries. Natalie's skin was fair and delicate, and the bruises appeared glaringly purple and red against it.
Ironically, Oliver had become exceptionally skilled at applying first aid, a bittersweet proficiency earned through tending to Natalie's wounds.
Once the ointment was applied and the wound had cooled in the open air, the cream became virtually invisible. Oliver gently tucked her leg back beneath the warmth of the blankets.
Almost instinctively, she curled up tightly once more.
A sharp pang shot through Oliver's heart as he observed the scene—it hurt.
"Sweetheart."
"I've missed you."
"I'm sorry about what happened today."
His whispered words were thick with emotion and unyielding devotion.
Oliver took a seat at the bedside, leaning against the nightstand, and took Natalie's hand. Gradually, their fingers entwined, locking together in a firm, unbreakable embrace.
The next morning.
Natalie, after waking up, took a few hazy seconds to remember what happened. She had felt a bit drowsy after the soup last night and decided to take a brief nap.
Nine o'clock already?
Had she really slept that long?
And so deeply?
Natalie was both shocked and suspicious, sensing that something was off but unable to pinpoint what it could be.
She got out of bed and looked around; nothing was amiss.
The lock on the door was also undisturbed.
She made a full round of the room, deciding perhaps she was just overthinking it.
Early morning.
Charles approached Maple Villa to pick up Oliver, carrying the day's documents.
"Sir, your change of clothes is in the trunk, and I'd like to go over today's schedule with you," Charles said, his voice steady, almost suited for a newscast.
By the time he finished reporting the day's agenda, the man in the back had already closed his eyes.
"Sir?"
Two seconds passed, then Oliver hummed a response, "I’m listening."
"Sir, are you tired?" Charles inquired.
Oliver didn't reply, though the fatigue on his face was unmistakable.
The stress of Natalie's departure had already disrupted his rest, and last night he spent the whole time sitting by her bed, watching her intently as the dim light from outside cast shadows over her.
Now, he didn't want to miss a second of watching her sleep—it felt like the only time he could.
"Sir, we've located the person who started the rumors about your divorce."
Jamie had been the one digging into this, but since Charles was picking up Oliver for a direct trip to the office that morning, Jamie had asked Charles to pass on the message. It was, after all, a matter of urgency for Oliver.
Oliver's eyes were extremely cold.
"It was one of the maids at the main house of the Rosewood Estate. She snapped a photo of your divorce settlement and leaked it," the explanation came, as if it were a common occurrence in such grand homes.
No wonder the world was so convinced of Natalie and Oliver's separation; the picture of that document had fueled the fire of gossip.
And the terms? They were as good as Natalie leaving with nothing—stripped of all wealth. To the chattering public, it looked like she was nothing more than a discarded wife Oliver couldn't wait to get rid of. But who would've thought that document had been unilaterally decided by his wife?
Moreover, the so-called settlement was now void. Without a finalized divorce decree, how could anyone jump to the conclusion that their marriage was over?
Charles had always considered his lady to be of rare intellect, and yet, her naivety in matters of matrimonial breakups was evident. Did she really believe a mere agreement could end a marriage?
"Why?" Oliver's face was a mask of frost. The idea that the leak had sprung from within the Rosewood Estate itself had never crossed his mind.
"The maid claimed she was just chasing clout, and she thought..." the words trailed off hesitantly.
"She thought what?"
"That you would never reunite with the lady, and that's why she erred."
In plain terms, the maid underestimated Natalie's significance in Oliver's heart—reckless and foolish.
"Where is she now?" Oliver inquired, a hard edge to his voice.
"With Mr. Liam, waiting for you to decide."
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
