CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 143: WEDDING NIGHT

William Foster raised an eyebrow with a playful glint in his eyes, "Darling, I want to kiss you. Could you lower your head a bit for me?"

As he spoke, his voice carried a gentle yet barely noticeable trace of anticipation that undeniably tugged at one’s heartstrings.

"Okay."

Clara Bennett uttered just one word, yet it felt as though she’d made a monumental decision.

A flicker of complex emotion flashed in her eyes, but she nodded compliantly nonetheless.

Clara leaned down slightly, whispering by his ear with a breath as fresh as orchids, "Today, I’ll follow your every instruction."

These few words seemed especially ambiguous at this moment and set one’s imagination running wild.

As soon as she finished speaking, William Foster’s breathing suddenly grew heavier.

His chest heaved with the quick breaths, and a satisfied smile emerged on his face.

Clearly, he was very pleased with Clara’s response.

The next morning, before dawn even broke, while the sky was still completely dark, Clara groggily opened her eyes.

She groped around in the darkness for a bit, finally finding her phone on the bedside table; checking the time, she realized she’d only slept for two hours.

She glanced at the still sleeping William Foster beside her and silently grit her teeth.

What exactly happened last night?

One word: Regret!

Clara repeatedly chanted this word over and over in her mind.

Regret, with a capital "R"!

She thought to herself how audacious she had been to provoke this man on their first night together when he seemed so dominant.

She had assumed he was just a gentle, well-behaved big boy, occasionally acting coquettish; she never imagined that once his limits were touched, he would become extraordinarily powerful.

Because, usually, William Foster always looked clingy in Clara’s eyes, as if every day he was just dying to act cute.

Over time, she became so bewitched by his gentle charm that she completely ignored his other characteristics.

She couldn’t resist teasing him, thinking up playful banter, and naively assuming there wouldn’t be any consequences.

After all, her husband was a handsome man who was blind and disabled; his miserable appearance always made her want to amuse him.

But she forgot one thing.

William Foster was at least 1.88 meters tall, and even sitting in a wheelchair, his hands were not to be underestimated.

When it came to combat strength, he definitely didn’t lose to her.

So, ultimately, she was the one who suffered.

Clara closed her eyes helplessly, silently reflecting on everything.

After a whole night of tossing and turning, even a robust physique couldn’t withstand it.

Clara glared fiercely at the sleeping William Foster beside her, her heart full of resentment.

On a daily basis, this guy always presented himself as gentle and refined, seemingly with no offensive power. Yet tonight, he fully demonstrated his strength and passion as a man.

At this moment, however, William Foster slept peacefully in an incredibly serene posture, his long, thick lashes resting gently on his eyelids, making him appear as innocent and harmless as an angel.

Seeing him like this, Clara couldn’t help but let out a soft hum: Alright, since your looks are indeed quite high, I’ll let you off for today.

She carefully got out of bed, being extra cautious not to make any noise that might disturb his sweet dreams, then picked up a plain long robe placed by the pillow and put it on.

After all, according to custom, on the morning after the wedding, one should serve tea to the elders of the family. Therefore, she left the cozy yet somewhat ambiguous room as quietly as possible.

Almost as soon as Clara stepped over the threshold, William Foster’s eyes suddenly opened, a sly yet warm glint flashing within them.

He quickly reached for his phone on the bedside table, swiftly composing and sending a text message.

"Keep a close eye on where the Young Madam is going next and her exact actions."

The message was brief and direct, yet the conveyed information was very clear.

Soon after the message was sent, Arthur Davis responded, "Understood. Mr. William Foster, rest assured, I’ll handle everything."

For the time of day, it was slightly early, which led William Foster to ponder a question: what could be the reason his young wife was so eager to leave?

Was there something particularly important awaiting her attention?

As Clara’s light steps carried her through the corridor, finally arriving in the living room, several loyal servants approached, respectfully trailing behind her as they proceeded towards the kitchen area of the mansion.

Stepping inside, she found several highly skilled chefs bustling with preparations for various kinds of breakfast. Upon seeing their master appear in their midst, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and greeted her warmly in unison, "Good morning, Young Madam!"

Hearing such greetings, Clara responded with a soft but gentle smile.

"Please continue with your tasks; I intend to use the small kitchen next to prepare some local specialty snacks for the elders as a pre-breakfast surprise."

Everyone silently admired her: Ah, the Young Madam is not only beautiful but also so filial and considerate!

Truly a rare good wife, making everyone who saw her feel warm-hearted.

On the other end, Clara opened the food boxes her brothers had specially sent last night.

Heh, indeed, she had brought local specialty snacks, but whether or not the elders could "handle" these goodies was another matter.

Clara’s lips curled slightly upward, a mischievous glint passing through her eyes.

An hour later, Clara left the kitchen with a few servants, then traversed a large rose garden.

Sunlight spilled into the garden, with the white petals swaying gently in the breeze.

Seeing the garden filled with white roses, Clara paused slightly, her heart welling up with an indescribable feeling.

"Have these always been white roses planted here?"

She asked, her eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

The servant respectfully replied, "In response to the Young Madam, these were specifically ordered to be planted here by Mr. William Foster a few days ago."

His tone revealed a deep respect for Mr. Foster.

Hearing this, an inexplicable warmth surged within Clara’s heart, as though a warm current had coursed through her entire being.

"Could you help me pick a few later?"

She softly requested, her eyes tenderly fixed on those snow-white blossoms.

The servant nodded in agreement, "No problem, Young Madam, rest assured, we’ll prepare them for you."

This vast estate of the Foster family had different sections; the mansion used for banquets or any incidents was in another area.

This house was more secluded, reportedly intended for the main family members of the Fosters, whereas people like Samuel Grant weren’t qualified to enter.

Thinking about it, Clara couldn’t help but feel wistful.

Logically, when William Foster returned home to rest, he should have stayed in his own section; who knew why he chose to come to this house that originally belonged to Samuel Grant’s brother.

Perhaps it’s what they call the butterfly effect?

At this thought, she couldn’t resist letting out a faint smile.

Looking at the rose garden ahead, Clara was almost certain this was William Foster’s careful arrangement just for her.