Chapter 335 Mr. Hearst, Acting Spoiled
Ashley used every ounce of her strength to finally shove Damian onto the bed, yanking off his leather shoes and stretching his long legs out at the foot of the bed.
She was so wiped out she didn't even dare to breathe too hard.
Sitting on the bedroom carpet, feeling like a noodle, Ashley felt empty inside—body, heart, and mind.
She glanced at the half-conscious Damian sprawled on the bed, his last words echoing in her head.
"Take me back."
"Back where?"
"Back... to your heart."
His lips were so close to hers, warm, soft, and oh-so-tempting.
Was this the booze talking, or did he really mean it? Or maybe he was just so drunk he was spouting lines from some movie, playing a game.
Ashley shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. No, she couldn't let herself go there. She had to stop—she must!
Damian was a decent drunk; he didn't shout or make a scene, just passed out wherever he was.
Ashley got up, holding her knees, and wobbled to the living room. She poured herself a big glass of water and chugged it. Her stomach growled.
She hadn't eaten dinner and had burned so much energy; she was starving.
There were some frozen foods in the fridge. Ashley turned on the gas and put a pot on the stove.
She stared blankly out the window.
"Back... to your heart." The words kept coming back, like a spell, chipping away at the walls around her heart, breaking down her defenses.
After a while, she felt an unusual heat by her hand. Looking down, she realized she hadn't added water to the pot, and it was about to be ruined.
She quickly turned off the heat and put the pot under the tap. As the water hit the hot pot, it sizzled and splattered, with several drops landing on her arm, making her jump in pain.
Finally, she cooked the ravioli. Ashley propped her chin with one hand and held a fork with the other, zoning out.
Forcing herself to calm down, she ate four ravioli but lost her appetite.
Feeling irritable and restless, she walked to the bedroom and found Damian struggling to get up, looking like he was in serious pain.
Despite her anger, she couldn't help but be kind, "What are you doing?"
Damian puffed his cheeks without speaking, his face showing great pain.
"Do you want to throw up?" Ashley asked.
Damian nodded.
Worried, Ashley wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him as they stumbled to the bathroom. He bumped into the table and the sofa, making the journey awkward and dangerous.
"Slow down... slow down... watch your head!" Ashley said.
Damian, being so tall, accidentally hit his head on the bathroom door frame.
Ashley was a bit concerned.
Hearing the sound of vomiting, Ashley leaned against the door with her eyes closed. He must have been dealing with something tough; otherwise, he wouldn't have drunk so much.
She couldn't imagine Damian willingly drinking with government officials. But once she thought about it, she couldn't help but feel distressed. The high and mighty Damian, how could he let himself be brought so low?
Damian was puking his guts out, the sounds coming from his throat showing just how miserable he was.
Wasn't he supposed to be invincible? If he was so capable, he shouldn't get drunk, vomit, or get hurt.
Ashley clenched her fist. This was the last time, Ashley!
She turned and went to the kitchen to pour him a glass of water.
When she got back to the living room, she saw Damian sitting on the loveseat, his eyes bloodshot. The sofa wasn't long or wide enough, so his long legs were awkwardly spread out. Without shoes, his clean white socks pressed into the soft carpet.
He looked worn out, his hair a bit messy.
There was something oddly attractive about his disheveled state.
It was this damn look that had fooled so many people.
Ashley placed the water on the coffee table, her face cold, "Drink it."
Damian's head was pounding, and he rubbed his temples with his long fingers, frowning, "What is it?"
The vomiting had made his throat hoarse, and the bloodshot eyes made him look like a patient.
Seeing this, Ashley couldn't bring herself to be harsh, "Drink some water, then go back to sleep."
Ashley suspected Damian had a split personality. How could the drunk him be so different from the sober him? Were they the same person?
After a few sips, Damian noticed the plate on the dining table and pointed, "I'm hungry."
Having emptied his stomach, he wanted to eat something. But why did his eyes and tone make him seem like a starving homeless person?
"These are the leftovers I ate," Ashley said.
"Give it to me," Damian said.
"Okay." Ashley handed him the plate, "I used the fork."
Damian said nothing, just took the plate and picked up a ravioli. The outer layer was a bit cold, but the filling was still warm. He seemed to like it, eating another one and then slowly sipping the hangover soup.
Watching him eat, Ashley felt even more conflicted, "Are you sober now?"
Otherwise, how could he maintain such good table manners while eating?
Damian chewed the ravioli quietly, refined and restrained, "What do you mean?"
Ashley rubbed her forehead, "Do you remember what happened and how you got here?"
Damian looked around at the surroundings, "Is this your place?"
Ashley was speechless.
Fine, she didn't dare to chat with him. "Eat, then go to sleep."
After finishing the ravioli and drinking the water, Damian neatly placed the utensils, "I want to take a shower."
Ashley wanted to scream, 'I don't mind you dirtying my bed, just lie down and rest!!'
Damian tugged at his white shirt, frowning, "It's too dirty; I need to shower."
Ashley's mouth twitched, "Can you even stand to shower in your condition? What if you fall?"
Damian stubbornly insisted, as unreasonable as a spoiled child, "I want to shower."
Damian's good habits from his thirties couldn't be forgotten, even when drunk.
Ashley turned on the shower in the bathroom, checked the temperature, placed a non-slip mat, and prepared a towel, "Go ahead."
Damian eagerly went in and quickly started washing.
Ashley's head was spinning. What was she doing?
There were no spare clothes for him at her place, so when he came out, wouldn't he be...
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