CHAPTER 89: CHAPTER 89: GOT WHAT HE WANTED

Early the next morning.

Jean Ellison woke up in the overly large bed in the master bedroom.

She opened her eyes and felt a moment of disorientation; the unfamiliar ceiling and overly soft mattress made her momentarily unaware of where she was.

Then, the chaotic fragments of memories from last night suddenly surged back into her mind.

The man’s scorching skin, heavy breathing, and her own half-hearted indulgence...

She suddenly sat up, the spot beside her was empty, the pillow perfectly smooth, without a trace of a wrinkle, cold as ice.

As if no one had ever lied there.

Only the faint lingering scent of cedar in the air and the faint aching sensation deep in her body reminded her that last night was not a dream but a palpable reality.

He left?

Surprise, embarrassment, and a hint of emptiness swirled inside her.

Why did she have to... she could have refused.

She slipped on her slippers and got out of bed, feeling a bit dazed as she walked out of the bedroom.

As soon as she opened the door, a tempting aroma of food greeted her.

It was the combined smell of toast, fried eggs, and coffee that made her stomach rumble uncontrollably.

The living room was empty, but the dining table was neatly set.

A perfectly fried sunny-side-up egg, two golden slices of toast, a small plate of fruit salad, and a cup of warm milk beside it.

Underneath the cup of milk was a simple note.

Jean Ellison walked over and picked up the note.

On it was Justin Holden’s familiar and sharp handwriting, concise and to the point.

Took Jesse to First Primary.

Eat breakfast while it’s warm.

No mention of last night, no extra emotion, not even a signature.

As calm as handling an ordinary routine.

But this overly considerate breakfast and his rare initiative to take the child to school silently spoke of something extraordinary.

Jean Ellison held the thin slip of paper, feeling the sharpness of its edges at her fingertips.

She looked at the breakfast still steaming slightly on the table, her stomach growling louder, but her mind was in a chaotic tangle.

How should she explain last night’s events?

And how should she face... their relationship going forward?

She could have refused, couldn’t she?

When Justin Holden opened the door to the house, only the silence after breakfast remained in the living room.

The sunlight had shifted slightly, landing on a corner of the dining table.

Jean Ellison was holding a cup of milk, sipping slowly. Upon hearing the door, her eyelashes flickered, but she did not immediately look up.

He changed his shoes and approached the table.

His gaze swept over the table; the plates were clean, the egg and toast were finished, and only the original bowl that held the fruit salad contained some green peas.

Jean Ellison put down the cup, her fingertips unconsciously grazing the cup’s wall.

"Finished," she said softly, looking at the bowl and feeling compelled to explain the peas’ presence, "These... are a bit hard, my teeth haven’t been feeling good recently."

He knew, Claire Caldwell did not eat peas; she had an upset stomach once from eating peas as a child, and peas were not good for her digestion.

Justin Holden’s gaze shifted from the peas to her cheek. She slightly tilted her head, avoiding his direct gaze.

He reached out, his fingertips touching the bowl, where there was still some residual warmth from the food.

"Toothache?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Hmm," Jean Ellison mumbled, "Maybe a little inflammation."

"Open your mouth, let me see," Justin Holden said, his tone typically calm.

Jean Ellison was taken aback, instinctively pressing her lips together, looking up at him.

His face showed no expression, just looking at her, waiting for her cooperation.

That gaze made her uneasy, as if she were an uncooperative patient.

"No need..." She turned her head away, "It’s nothing serious."

Justin Holden did not insist, withdrawing his hand, "I have time this afternoon, I can take you to get it checked out."

His suggestion was very natural, very considerate.

Jean Ellison felt a tightness in her heart; she wasn’t really experiencing a toothache.

"No need to trouble you," she hurried her speech, "I’ve already... scheduled an appointment with the doctor, yes, a few days from now."

Justin Holden looked at her silently, his deep gaze seemingly able to see right through her.

The only sound in the restaurant was the faint ticking of the wall clock’s second hand.

Jean Ellison felt a bit embarrassed, her fingers quietly twisting the edge of her clothes under the table.

Suddenly, Justin Holden leaned in.

Jean’s body instantly tensed, thinking he was going to do something.

But he merely extended his hand and very lightly brushed his fingertip across the corner of her mouth, where there was a faint trace left by the milk she had just drunk.

His touch was gentle, his fingertips slightly cool.

Jean froze in place, holding her breath.

He was so close; she could smell his fresh scent mixed with the faint chill of the air he had brought in from outside.

Autumn had arrived, and the weather was turning cold.

He looked into her eyes, the hardness typical of his work demeanor seemed to have faded considerably, replaced by a deeper, more profound gaze, almost with a gentle focus.

"If you’re not feeling well, don’t force yourself." he said, his voice low and, to her ears, carrying a hint of unexpected tenderness, "Remember to see a doctor."

Jean’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat, unsettled by this sudden change of attitude.

She opened her mouth but couldn’t utter a sound, just watching as he straightened up.

He started clearing the table, efficiently picking up the empty plate in front of her and the bowl filled with peas.

His fingertip inevitably touched the back of her hand resting on the table, a touch so brief yet charged with a faint electric current.

The slight clinking of dishes echoed in Jean’s heart.

Watching him pick up the dishes and turn towards the kitchen, the words that had been swirling in her mind for so long almost spilled out instinctively.

"Justin Holden."

He stopped in his tracks, turning half his face, waiting for her to continue.

Jean took a breath, her throat feeling dry.

"Last night... did you get what you wanted?"

Justin’s body seemed to pause for a moment but did not fully turn around.

Jean gathered her courage and completed her sentence: "Then... can you continue helping me with the lawsuit?"

The moment the words fell, it felt as if the air instantly froze.

Justin turned around completely.

He still held those dishes, his fingers slightly whitening from the force.

The little bit of softness on his face vanished without a trace, his jawline tense, his gaze seemed to drop below freezing, sharply fixating on her face.

Jean was so unnerved by his stare that she instinctively wanted to avoid his eyes.

"What did you say?"

He spoke, his voice not high, each word distinct, mixed with a cold anger.

Jean was startled by his reaction but still braced herself to repeat, her voice much quieter.

"I said... the lawsuit..."

"The sentence before that." Justin interrupted her, stepping towards her.

There was no large movement, yet it brought a strong sense of oppression.

"Did you just say that last night I got what I wanted?"

Jean was rendered speechless by his questioning, her face turning slightly pale.

Justin stared at her, his eyes frighteningly cold, yet his lips curled into an extremely mocking arc.

"So, you didn’t refuse last night because of this?"

Each word was heavily enunciated, crashing over like shards of ice.

"You thought," he took another step closer, the dishes in his hand seemingly about to be crushed the next moment, "I treated you like that last night for this kind of transaction?"

Jean, shocked by the fury in his eyes, took half a step back, the edge of the dining table pressing coldly against her back, making her shiver.

She had never seen him so openly angry; even when they had disagreements in the past, he mostly treated her with indifference.

"I..."

She wanted to explain but found herself at a loss for words.

Deep down, such a thought had indeed crossed her mind.

Justin looked at her panicked and pale face, his gaze cold, as if disappointed, yet also self-mocking.

He turned away again, no longer looking at her, striding into the kitchen with the dishes.

The sound of the porcelain bowl being placed heavily on the countertop was clearly audible, carrying an obvious anger.

Jean stood frozen, listening to the rushing water as the faucet was turned on with force in the kitchen, and the crisp clinking of crockery, significantly louder than usual.

She watched the man’s upright figure in the kitchen, the spine under the moon-white shirt tensed like a fully drawn bow.

Jean stood there, her hands and feet turning cold.