CHAPTER 164: CHAPTER 164: COMPETING FOR AFFECTION

Jet lag was exhausting enough, and yet he ignored advice and drank so much alcohol, leaving Vera a bit annoyed with him.

Instead of moving away, he pressed closer, his full weight bearing down on her, making it hard for her to breathe.

Vera tried to pull away a bit, calling his full name in annoyance, "Noah, Grant..."

As they shifted, they fit together perfectly, locked in place. The man let out a sexy, muted groan from deep in his throat, making her shiver, her voice trailing off weakly...

Both froze, their eyes meeting.

The temperature suddenly soared.

Vera forgot to breathe, her red lips slightly parted. Under his scorching gaze, a blush rapidly crept up her neck, burning along her ears up to her cheeks.

The combination of alcohol and desire burned away reason, Noah Grant’s deep, dark eyes fixed on her, memories flooding back...

Her pale ankle in the rain halfway up the hill; the tight confines of the Hawthorne Family’s storage room; the almost out-of-control kiss at the old mansion in Ardendale; countless cold showers...

The man’s jaw tightened, his desire for her nearly reaching a breaking point. In the next moment, he clasped her slender waist and effortlessly lifted her, taking a few big steps to the door.

"Open the door," he ordered, grabbing her right hand, his tone almost commanding.

Pushed to the limit, his deep voice even had a rough edge, Vera’s heart pounded like a drum, her fingertips weakly curling in. Noah couldn’t wait, pressing her thumb onto the fingerprint lock.

"Sssss—" came the sound.

The door opened.

"Welcome home!"

As soon as they entered, the man kicked the door shut behind them, not even bothering to turn on the light. In the dark, he placed Vera on the entrance cabinet.

In the dimness, there were ambiguous breaths, rustling fabric sounds, and the crisp sound of a belt buckle.

Vera’s scalp tightened, her fingertips digging into his wrist.

The man leaned close to her ear, his hoarse, magnetic voice coaxing, "Nervous?"

She remained silent.

"Afraid of taking responsibility for me?" Noah Grant teased, sucking on her earlobe.

Vera trembled, her mind a jumble, unable to respond.

Noah whispered something rather crude into her ear.

She went soft in his embrace, and he carried her straight toward the bedroom. They hadn’t gone far when there was a loud "meow!"

Noah Grant had stepped on Lucky’s tail!

Vera was shocked, worriedly asking, "What’s wrong with Lucky?!"

Noah put her down, turned on the light, and there was Lucky, tail high and fur bristling, hissing angrily.

"Little thing, still dare to be fierce!" Noah gritted his teeth, leaning down, "Come here, let your dad see if I stepped on you?"

Vera pulled up one strap of her dress and stepped forward, asking with concern, "Where did it get stepped on?"

Noah replied, "The tail."

Lucky’s fur instantly smoothed down, running over to Vera and making a "meow meow meow" discordant sound, rubbing against her calves.

Vera squatted down, her fingertips gently combing through Lucky’s back fur, her voice soft and gentle, "Alright, alright, don’t be scared, don’t be scared, it was Daddy’s mistake, our Lucky was wronged."

Noah clicked his tongue against his cheek, slowly fastening his belt buckle, the action crumpling the hem of his shirt slightly, revealing a hint of his tight waistline.

He glanced sideways at Vera and the pudgy orange cat on the floor, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat, his lips curling into a mischievous grin, "...I was wronged too, little thing, nearly cost your dad his life!"

Vera looked up at him, meeting his wild, resentful gaze, listening to his cheeky words. Her gaze swept over his throat bobbing as he spoke and that teasing waist, and then down... unconsciously, she swallowed lightly.

"...Only Lucky was wronged," she muttered, "You deserved it."

Noah, "..."

He watched as Vera carried the fat orange cat to the balcony, continuously soothing it with a tender voice, feeling a pinch of jealousy.

...

After comforting Lucky, Vera washed her hands and came out of the bathroom to find Noah Grant reclining on the sofa.

One arm was draped over his forehead, shielding his eyes from the harsh overhead light, looking a bit weary.

"Noah Grant, you should go upstairs and rest early," she advised, coming closer.

Noah Grant moved his arm slightly, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes, his voice rasping as if worn by sandpaper, "...Vera, I have a headache."

The man’s voice was pitiful, like a big dog asking for attention.

Vera stopped in her tracks, looking down at him.

This person had been wild and fierce at the entrance moments ago, ready to devour her whole. Now he was playing the pity card.

But the prolonged flight and lack of sleep, combined with the effects of alcohol, had left his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks and neck unnaturally flushed, making him genuinely uncomfortable.

Vera’s annoyance was ultimately outweighed by the faint, creeping tenderness.

She turned back to the kitchen and returned with a warm cup of honey lemon water, helping him sit up, "Drink this, you’ll feel better."

Noah obediently drank most of the cup from her hand.

The warm, sweet water slid down his throat, easing some of the burning sensation.

Once back on the sofa pillow, he quickly reclined again, his head resting heavily on her leg.

Vera’s lips curled slightly upward.

Her fingertips began to massage his pulsing temples with just the right amount of pressure.

"Close your eyes and sleep."

Noah obediently closed his eyes, inhaling her comforting scent, enjoying the gentle pressure of her fingers, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat.

It seemed he was truly exhausted, as it wasn’t long before his breathing deepened into a steady rhythm, a faint snore escaping occasionally.

In the soft light, Vera looked down at his sleeping face.

The man had shed all the sharpness and angles of his wakefulness, his brows only showing weariness and peace.

As she watched, her lips slowly curved into a gentle smile.

Soon, flashes of images crossed her mind: Rosalind Morgan’s affectionate hold on Vivian Langdon at the banquet, and the resentful gaze from a certain noblewoman when Noah Grant publicly declared his pursuit of her.

A pang shot through Vera’s heart, the joy on her lips fading slightly.

Her gaze fixated on a certain point, unbidden thoughts of her former mother-in-law coming to mind.

Jean Crowe was hypocritical, always attacking her underhandedly.

And Ms. Morgan, strong and arrogant, didn’t even bother with a facade of hypocrisy, nor used covert tactics because she was the rule herself, her denial the most direct weapon.

One hid murder behind a smile; the other crushed you right there with force.

Both, from their core, looked down on her.

Vera frowned slightly, taking a deep breath to calm her emotions, quickly bringing herself back to the present.

Worrying about the future only added unnecessary burdens.

She pulled a blanket over Noah Grant.

After showering, she came out to see Lucky’s chubby body nestled against Noah’s side, the little one reclined with its eyes closed, purring softly. She smiled affectionately.

Turning off the lights, she returned to the bedroom, just about to lie down when her phone screen lit up.

An unknown number was calling with no location.

Vera sat down and answered, "Hello."

On the other end, the person hesitated, not speaking... only a vaguely familiar breathing sound was audible.

Vera tightened her grip on the phone, her face darkening.