Cecilia carried both breakfasts into the hospital room and set them on the table.
She happened to be a bit hungry herself, so she sipped some millet porridge and nibbled on two custard buns.
Yes, she thought, I’ll have some fruit after I eat.
Lately, she hadn't been feeling nauseous as much, so her appetite was better—and sometimes, she craved the strangest things.
She sat obediently at the table, munching on a bun in small, careful bites. The faint, creamy aroma drifted lazily through the hospital room.
The whole morning slipped by, but the man on the bed remained motionless, not so much as a twitch of his fingers.
Cecilia started to worry and asked Old Third to speak with the doctor, who said, 'He’ll likely wake up this afternoon.'
Knowing he’d wake soon only made her feelings even more jumbled. She barely touched her lunch.
So... what should she say to him when he woke up?
Maybe she should just head back to her own room for now...
She stood by the bedside for a while, watching him, before finally turning to leave.
Suddenly, the man on the bed opened his eyes and grabbed her hand.
Cecilia Ye turned, startled, locking eyes with the man who had just woken up. He still looked a little dazed, but his grip on her was firm.
His pale face made his dark eyes look even deeper and more intense.
“Cecilia…” Xavier Foster’s voice was hoarse and weak. “Don’t go.”
He’d woken briefly in a fog last night, just long enough to learn Cecilia was safe, then drifted off again. Still, flashes from what had happened ran through his mind.
He remembered the despair of hearing Cecilia had been kidnapped, the blind panic when a gun was pointed straight at her.
His eyes pleaded wordlessly. Cecilia blinked and whispered, “I was just going back to my room…”
“Can I look at you a little longer?” he murmured. “Please?”
Cecilia couldn’t bear to say no. She sat back down at the bedside.
Xavier Foster’s handsome eyes were fixed on her face, making her blush so hotly that even her ears felt warm.
She bit her lip; neither of them spoke. Cecilia had no idea what to say.
Xavier Foster felt utterly content. It had been so, so long since he’d truly looked at her like this.
Her hand stayed tucked in his palm.
Let me be selfish this once, he thought. Let me have just a little more time to look at her.
He lifted the corners of his lips, quietly delighted just to see Cecilia alive and well before him.
He was so grateful, so glad it had been him who got shot, not Cecilia.
His gaze fell to Cecilia’s soft lips. For a second, he was unsure: Had yesterday’s kiss really happened, or had it been a dream?
He brought her small hand to his own chest and spoke in a low voice.
“I’m just glad I can see you again.”
Cecilia felt the warmth beneath her hand and remembered his wound was on the right side of his chest. She gently pulled her hand free.
She met his eyes, looking confused, and enunciated each word: “Xavier Foster, was it worth it? Do you understand—you could have died.”
A shimmer of tears glistened in her eyes and her lips trembled slightly.
“I’m all right,” he reassured her, weak from days without water but steadier with every word. “I’m just thankful I got here just in time, for once. I’ve made you wait too many times in the past—but that ends now… I promise, never again.”
No matter if it was a blackout, being mobbed by reporters, or this time, he’d never let her face the world alone again.
Cecilia knew then—Xavier Foster truly wouldn’t leave her behind.
So this... this is what it feels like to be protected by someone.
She still wasn’t used to his open declarations, so she hid her tears with a blink, murmuring, “I... I’ll get you some water.”
Xavier Foster watched as she held her little belly, poured some warm water from the dispenser, and slipped a straw into the cup.
Every second, he wanted to drink in her every move.
When she brought the water over, Xavier Foster turned his head and took a few sips, his Adam’s apple bobbing gently.
Afterward, he glanced at her stomach and asked, with a faint smile, “Is the baby behaving?”
Yesterday, he’d felt the baby when he touched her belly; Cecilia had called him the father, and that had warmed him through.
Even under such circumstances, all he could recall now was how soft and warm her belly had felt.
“Very well-behaved,” Cecilia replied, patting her stomach. Secretly, she thought it was time to let Old Third take over caring for Xavier Foster—if she kept staring any longer, she wouldn’t know what to do.
She still hadn’t figured out how to face Xavier Foster. Placing the cup on the nightstand, she started to speak.
But as she lowered her head, she noticed a sheen of sweat on Xavier Foster’s forehead; her words caught in her throat.
“Xavier Foster, are you in a lot of pain?”
The anesthesia had long since worn off—the fiery, tearing pain at his wound hit him as soon as he woke. He’d kept quiet so she wouldn’t worry, figuring he could tough it out.
But the pain kept mounting, sweat beading on his brow despite himself.
He exhaled, “It’s nothing. The anesthesia’s just worn off.”
Cecilia could imagine how much it must hurt—he’d been shot in the back, the bullet had to be removed through the right side of his chest. How could it not be painful?
“I’ll get the doctor…”
Xavier Foster shook his head and held her back. “No need—the doctor can't take away the pain. But looking at you, I don’t feel it at all.”
Cecilia was at a loss for words. When had Xavier Foster gotten so good at acting spoiled?
…
By evening, Charles Chase returned to the hospital with dinner, but he didn't see his little sister in her room.
Frowning, he walked next door and immediately spotted Cecilia asleep on the little bed by the window, curled under a small blanket, sleeping soundly.
He glanced at Xavier Foster, who was lying in bed, watching his sister with a hungry look, and felt a pang of annoyance. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Well, look who’s still alive.”
Xavier Foster only lifted a corner of his lips and ignored him.
Charles Chase clicked his tongue, feeling awkward, and stood at the foot of the bed. “Thanks, I guess. But bullying Cecilia is a different matter—you’re not getting her back that easily.”
Finally, Xavier Foster deigned to respond. “No thanks needed—it was my choice. And I’ll win Cecilia back myself.”
Before Charles Chase could fire back, the person on the little bed woke up at the noise, rubbing her eyes open. Seeing her big brother standing there, she felt oddly guilty.
With a soft tender voice, she said, “Brother, you’re back.”
Charles Chase’s expression immediately warmed. He walked over to the small bed.
“Mm. I brought you dinner. Come on, let’s go eat.”
He carefully draped his jacket over Cecilia Ye’s shoulders, worried she’d catch a chill just after waking. Cecilia realized she really was hungry this time, and let herself be led out.
She turned to glance back at Xavier Foster on the bed, sneaking a tug at her brother’s sleeve, pleading with her eyes. “Brother…”
Charles Chase frowned—he could never refuse his sister when she looked at him that way.
“All right, all right, he can eat later, he won’t starve—there’s food for him.”
He led his little sister back next door, silently lamenting his bad luck: his precious cabbage had yet to come home with him, and now it was being stolen again—by the same pig as last time! How infuriating!