Carol quickly pulled her hand back and stood up, pretending to shake off the numbness. "You're awake? How're you feeling? Want some water?"

Ethan avoided looking at her, leaning quietly against the headboard. His face was still pale, but the aloof calm in his eyes was back, like last night's fragile, needy version of him never existed.

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse. "Thanks for last night."

The words were dry and distant, clearly just polite formalities.

"What're you thanking me for?" Carol leaned a little closer, her tone deliberately teasing, "We're married, remember? Are you really gonna bill me for 'nursing services'? 'Cause I was on call all night - even threw in a little hand-warming service for free. What's your plan for paying up?"

Ethan clearly didn't expect that and froze for a second.

Carol chuckled. "Alright, you just woke up. I'll stop messing with you. Let me go get Jack."

"Mm."

She turned and left the room, softly pulling the door shut behind her.

As the door clicked closed, she thought she heard the faintest sigh from inside - too soft to be sure.

By the time she came back with Jack and breakfast, Ethan had already moved to the armchair by the window, wrapped in a blanket, watching the morning light.

He quietly ate some oatmeal and cooperated with the doctor Simon sent over. He didn't say much and had gone back to being distant, even more guarded than usual.

But Carol could sense something was different now.

That wall he always kept up? It had a tiny crack in it.

When she brought lunch up later, he didn't just say "leave it there" like he used to. Sometimes he actually looked up and asked, "What did you do today?"

Once, when she was digging through shelves in his massive study looking for a book, trying not to give up, he casually said, "Third shelf, fifth book from the left."

Of course Carol wouldn't miss a chance like that to keep pushing her luck. That night, when she brought dinner, she purposely set the tray on the edge of his desk and leaned in close to his ear, whispering, "Mr. Mitchell, with all this special treatment, are you secretly giving me a VIP pass to your heart?"

Ethan hesitated, fingers tightening on his pen, but didn't turn around. "I just don't want you roaming in front of me all the time."

"Oh?" Carol walked around to face him, hands behind her back, head tilted. "And here I thought you were falling for me."

His pen suddenly jerked across the page. He finally looked up, eyes a mess of emotions. "Carol, you... how can you be this shameless?"

Instead of reacting, she just smirked confidently and tossed him a carefree smile before walking out. "Tch, I've got you all figured out. You just won't admit it."

A few more days passed, and Ethan seemed well enough to go downstairs on his own.

That evening, Carol made a simple dinner like usual. When she walked out from the kitchen holding the plates, she was surprised to see Ethan already sitting at his usual spot at the dining table.

She froze for a second, then placed his plate in front of him.

They ate in silence.

After a while, Ethan suddenly spoke. His voice was still scratchy, but calm. "The spot by the window in the study gets good light. You can use your laptop there if you want."

Carol paused mid-bite and glanced up at him.

He didn't look at her, just kept quietly sipping his soup like the comment didn't mean much.

But Carol knew better. That hadn't been a throwaway line-it was him showing a hint of openness, giving her a tiny sliver of space in his world. It wasn't nothing.

She set her fork down and leaned slightly over the table, elbows resting on the edge. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing gleam, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "So, you sure you're not catching feelings for me?"

Ethan's hand stalled for half a second as he stirred his soup. He looked up at her and, for once, his gaze didn't have that usual frosty edge. Instead, there was something else-resignation, maybe. "I just think the lighting's good there. Makes it easier to draw."

"Oh really?" Carol dragged out the words, clearly not buying it. "'Cause I read somewhere that when a guy lets a girl near his 'private space', it's usually a sign he's into her. Mr. Mitchell, are you sure I didn't hit the nail on the head?"

Ethan took a slow sip of soup, deliberately avoiding her eyes. "...Eat your food."

"Fine," Carol muttered, pouting a little.

Silence fell over the dining room again-but this time, it was different. The quiet wasn't awkward or tense; it felt oddly calm, almost comforting.

He was still Ethan-the aloof, meticulous man who'd never been easy to approach.

And she was still Carol-the girl who'd married into this for fifty grand and a shot at a clean slate.

But somewhere along the line-between late-night coughs and quiet care-the lines between them had started to blur.

At eleven sharp, the clock chimed its last. The villa was still, save for the faint whoosh of the AC.

Carol sat in front of the desk in the guest room, her digital pen hovering just above the tablet screen. She moved delicately, trying not to make a sound-the house was so quiet, even Ethan's occasional coughs upstairs echoed like whispers in a cave.

Then, the metallic clink of a key turning in the front lock shattered the silence, jarring and loud at that hour.

Her hand jerked, pen tapping the board. Heart racing, she glanced out the window. The black sedan was unmistakable-Grace's car.

No time to process. She yanked the jacket off the chair and bolted downstairs. If Grace found out she'd come from the guest room, that "we live together" story would fall apart instantly.

Too late.

She reached the hallway just as the front door swung open.

Grace stepped in, carrying two thermos containers. Her shawl was still damp from the night air, but her smile was warm and polite. Only her eyes gave her away, sweeping the room like searchlights.

"Carol?" she said gently. "Still up? Great timing-I made chicken soup for you two. Where's Ethan?"

Carol clenched the hem of the jacket, fingers tightening until her knuckles went white. She forced a calm tone. "He's upstairs resting. I just came down to grab a design file."

"A design file?" Grace's gaze slid over the cozy loungewear Carol was wearing, then flicked toward the guest room. Her smile thinned a little. "Guest room light's on. Design file's downstairs?"

Before Carol could explain, Grace was already heading up the stairs with quick, confident steps, thermoses in hand. "I'll bring him some soup directly. That boy never drinks enough unless I'm watching."

Carol followed close behind, pulse thudding harder with every step. Ethan's bedroom was at the end of the second-floor hallway. The guest room was right by the stairs-too close. It wouldn't take much for Grace to catch on.

And sure enough, the moment Grace nudged open the master bedroom door, her smile froze.

Ethan was lying in bed under a dark gray blanket, breathing evenly like he was out cold.

But the bed clearly had a single setup-just one side was used. The other half was perfectly smooth, not a single crease in sight, and even the pillow still looked freshly fluffed. No question-no one had slept there.

Grace's expression instantly turned sour. She spun toward Carol, completely dropping the gentle facade. "Which room are you staying in?"

Before Carol could even say a word, there was a loud clatter from the guest room-that was the metal pen holder she'd knocked down earlier while hurrying downstairs. It rolled across the floor, sounding unusually loud in the quiet house.

Grace's eyes zeroed in on the guest room and she stormed over. She shoved the door wide open.

Inside, Carol's drawing tablet and unfinished designs were still laid out on the desk. Her cardigan was draped casually over the chair. Skincare products lined up on the nightstand-every detail screamed that this was where she actually lived.

"Oh, great. You two are still sleeping in separate rooms?" Grace turned around, her voice low but stern, clearly trying not to wake up Ethan upstairs. "Did I not make myself clear last time? You're husband and wife, not some random roommates!"

Before she'd even finished, a rustle came from the master bedroom.

Ethan had already gotten out of bed. He was wearing dark satin pajamas, and even half-awake, his posture was upright and composed. His face looked pale, but his eyes were sharp and totally alert-no sign of just waking up.

"Mom." He walked over to Carol's side, his tone calm and level. "I told her to stay in the guest room. I've been having coughing fits at night. Didn't want to disturb her."

"Didn't want to disturb her?" Grace clearly wasn't buying it. She looked between the two of them, disapproval all over her face. "She's your wife. Taking care of you is part of that. Sleeping in separate rooms-what kind of message does that send? What about the Mitchell family's reputation?"

"The family's reputation won't fall apart just because we sleep in different rooms." Ethan's voice stayed steady, but there was a firmness underneath. "I know what my body can handle. No need to drag her into my mess and mess up her sleep too."

Grace was momentarily stumped, but she quickly turned to Carol, her tone softer but still laced with authority. "Carol, I know you're a reasonable girl. Just pack up your things and move back into the master bedroom today. I'll wait downstairs. You let me know when it's all sorted, and I'll be on my way."

Carol glanced at the determination in Grace's eyes, then at Ethan beside her. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Alright."

Only then did Grace relax a bit. She immediately had the driver start moving Carol's things from the guest room to the walk-in closet.

She followed in person, fussing the entire time. "Hang your clothes on this side, easier to access. Keep your daily stuff on the dressing table-no clutter. And if Ethan starts coughing at night, make sure he has warm water within reach..."

Carol didn't really respond, just gave a nod here and there.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Ethan leaning against the closet doorway, both hands in his pajama pockets, gaze fixed vaguely out the window. His expression was unreadable.

He didn't stop Grace from nagging, didn't say much of anything, like he wasn't really part of the situation-but at the same time, his quiet presence eased some of the burden off Carol.

By the time the clock hit 1AM, Grace had made sure every one of Carol's things was in the master bedroom and had watched them walk into the room together before she finally left, satisfied.Before leaving, she turned back and reminded, "Keep an eye on Ethan tonight, don't just fall asleep on your own."

The moment the door clicked shut, silence instantly filled the master bedroom.

Ethan walked to the window and drew the heavy curtains, shutting out the night completely. Then he turned around, glancing at Carol who was standing in the center of the room, voice calm, "If it's uncomfortable for you, I'll have Jack set up a bed in the study."

"No need," Carol replied right away, pointing to the carpet in the corner, "I can just sleep here with a blanket. Anything's better than getting ambushed by Mom again."

Ethan's eyes dropped to the rug, brows faintly furrowing, but he didn't argue. He headed to the bedside table and picked up a stack of papers-clearly work that hadn't been finished during the day.

Leaning against the headboard, the soft light from the lamp outlined his sharp profile. His fingers flicked through the documents with practiced ease, like the earlier disturbance had never happened.

Carol didn't expect help from him anyway. She pulled a thick cashmere blanket from the closet and spread it over the carpet.

Lying down, she listened to the sound of flipping paper nearby, oddly comforted by it.

Half-asleep, she felt something warm and slightly heavy draped over her. A faint woody scent lingered, familiar and calming, but she was too tired to open her eyes. Sleep pulled her under quickly.

The next morning, Carol woke up on her own.

Opening her eyes, she noticed a blanket had been placed over her during the night.

It was him.

Her heart skipped a beat, a quiet warmth blooming in her chest.

She folded the blanket neatly and set it on the nightstand before stepping softly out of the room.

On the kitchen bar sat a simple breakfast-sandwich and warm milk. No clue if the housekeeper made it or if Jack had brought it over.

After finishing the meal, Carol headed to the study. As she reached the door, she heard Ethan inside, voice cool and firm, carrying that sharp edge only business talks can have: "The risk analysis on this plan is too rough. Have the risk control team redo it. I want it on my desk by five."

He hung up and looked toward the doorway where Carol stood. His expression unreadable, gaze deep. "You're up?"

"Yeah." Carol nodded. "Grace called just now. Said she baked banana bread for you. Told me to bring it by."

She lifted the warm food container in her hand, passing along the message from Grace.

Ethan nodded, gesturing toward the desk without breaking from the screen in front of him.

Not until he typed the last word and closed the document did he finally open the container. His tone, as usual, was unbothered but meaningful: "Don't overthink what she said about having kids."

Carol walked over, leaning slightly on the desk with both hands. She had to admit, this close, Ethan's good looks were seriously next level. When he focused, there was this glow in his eyes that messed with her inner fangirl. She couldn't help teasing him a little.

"Are you saying I'd be taking a loss having your kid?" she smirked. "With your genes, Ethan, I'd say I'd be the one coming out ahead."

She had expected him to ignore it or shut it down coldly. What she didn't expect was that he actually looked up. His gaze was deep as ever, tone still calm, but there was something a bit more probing about it. "You've got a pretty unique take on what counts as a loss."

Carol chuckled. "Your banana bread's gonna lose its warmth. Eat it while it's still good. I'm heading to the office."

Ethan nodded slightly. As she walked out, he drummed his fingers lightly on the desk, eyes still thoughtful.

Winter had sunk its claws deep into Riverton, and the damp chill in the air seeped right into your bones.

With Christmas just around the corner, fairy lights and evergreen garlands adorned the streetlamps on both sides of the road. Storefronts had been dressed up with snowflake decals and "Merry Christmas" signs. Even though the villa hadn't been decorated-mostly because of Ethan's health-the holiday spirit still found its way in.

That morning, the sky was gloomy, and fine snowflakes began to fall quietly.

For a southern city like Riverton where snowfall was a rare treat, this was a pleasant surprise.

Carol was stirred awake by the soft glow filtering through the curtains. She opened the window, and a sharp gust of cold hit her face, mixed with a few delicate bits of snow.

She blinked in surprise, stepped outside, and instinctively stretched out her hand to catch the tiny flakes.

The little six-point snow crystals melted instantly in her warm palm, leaving the softest trace of moisture. But just that tiny moment managed to curve her lips into a pure and simple smile.

Ethan stepped out of his study with a glass in hand, planning to refill it. That's when he saw her standing there.

She was wearing a fuzzy pale-pink loungewear set, her figure slim, her face turned slightly up, eyes tracing the falling snow outside. Her outstretched fingers, fair and slender, mirrored the whiteness of the snow drifting down. Her profile looked unusually peaceful in the dim light.

He paused mid-step, watching silently for a moment before quietly asking, "Aren't you cold?"

Carol turned to look at him, eyes still lit with astonishment. She shook her head. "Nope."

Spotting that he was only in a cashmere sweater, standing halfway out into the hallway, she gave a little wave and half-coaxed, "Come out here for a bit. It's cold, but bracing. Builds character."

Ethan raised an eyebrow at that, his voice hinting at both annoyance and amusement. "Where'd you even hear that kind of folksy nonsense?"

He'd always been the one everyone tiptoed around, too fragile to risk the breeze, much less the cold.

Still, despite his words, his legs moved like they had a mind of their own. He stepped out from the comfort of the hallway and came to stand beside her under the gentle snowfall.

Carol's eyes glimmered with a mix of triumph and something softer, and her tone carried a tiny note of pride. "It's not nonsense. My mom always said so. She was never wrong."

As the words left her mouth, her eyes dimmed for a second, like some memory surfaced.

Mom, lying in bed, forcing a smile as she told her gently but firmly, "I won't be able to stay and watch you grow up." That memory always left a bitter pull in her chest.

A sudden gust blew flakes at Ethan's face, and the chill it carried triggered a faint itch in his throat. He turned away and coughed lightly, twice.

Oddly, the shallow tightness in his chest that had lingered over the past few days... actually felt a little looser.

Carol snapped back to the present instantly at the sound of his cough.

Almost without thinking, she grabbed the thick woolen blanket draped over the nearby lounge chair and wrapped it around his shoulders. Her movements were swift but gentle.

"I'm not as frail as you think." Ethan frowned slightly, feeling the warmth and her closeness, his instinct to pull back kicking in. He still clung to a certain distance, a bit of restraint.Carol acted like she didn't hear a word he said. She lifted her head and stared straight into Ethan's bottomless eyes. There was a quiet kind of intensity, like she wanted to cut through that frozen shell of his and reach whatever was buried beneath.

Her voice was soft, spilled out by the wind, but there was a clear weight behind it, unmoving and stubborn. "Ethan, I don't want you to die."

Ethan froze like someone had just slapped him with a sentence he never saw coming-blunt, out of the blue, no sugarcoating.

He met her gaze, and in those eyes reflecting his own, there wasn't a hint of sarcasm, calculation, or pity. Just that kind of pure, stubborn concern that refused to back down.

It hit him-somewhere between his ribs and his heart-with a strange, unfamiliar ache.

He moved his throat, lips parting just a bit, like he was gonna say something. But in the end, the words locked up tight and nothing came out.

Carol was the first to snap out of it. That sentence she blurted out? Yeah, she just realized how wildly inappropriate it was-heat rushed up her face.

She quickly looked away, embarrassed, and tried to play it cool with a casual tone that didn't match the fluttering mess inside her chest. She grabbed the edge of his blanket and tugged. "C'mon, let's head back inside. Freezing makes you tougher, sure, but with your condition... let's not test fate, okay?"

The feel of the wool under her fingers, and the clean scent of him mixed with cold winter air-it all messed with her heart rhythms for a second.

*

Night crept in, and Carol was still alone in the villa.

Ethan had gone out in the afternoon and just... never came back. Didn't say where he was going, either.

Her phone buzzed against the silence. It was Sophia. She wanted to come over, share a drink, and complain about the stress of year-end deadlines.

Carol glanced around the room, all warm lights and empty space, and hesitated.

Ethan wasn't a fan of guests, even if Sophia was her bestie. Less drama's always better, right?

After a few seconds, she tapped out a reply and they agreed to meet at their usual spot-a private, quiet members-only bar with the chillest vibe.

Sophia got there first. When Carol walked in wrapped in the lingering cold, Sophia zipped over, voice low but full of gossip-mode hype. "Girl! Guess who I just saw? Your husband!"

Carol paused mid-jacket removal, surprised. "Ethan? He's here?"

With that fragile body of his? What's he doing in a bar?

"Over there," Sophia jerked her chin subtly toward the semi-private seating on the second floor. "See? Talking to some guy."

Carol followed her gaze, and yeah-there he was. Ethan sat in one of the upstairs booths, kind of angled toward them but not looking their way.

He had on a dark grey turtleneck, coat tossed casually beside him. The mellow yellow lighting touched the sharp edges of his face, making his pale skin stand out even more, but his back was still ramrod straight, like he belonged in a painting you couldn't ignore.

He wasn't holding a drink, exactly-just a heavy-bottomed glass, steam curling up from the rim.

"With his health, and he's still drinking?" Sophia muttered, then blinked. "Wait... Is that hot water? Who drinks hot water out of a whiskey glass?"

Then her eyes caught the guy sitting across from Ethan, and her interest took another sharp turn. "Whoa, and who's that? Never seen him before. Kinda has that bad-boy vibe going on. Doesn't match your husband's whole iceberg aesthetic."

Carol looked too.

The man was wearing a flashy color-block shirt, a couple buttons undone like he didn't care, and had a crooked smile like he didn't take anything seriously. He leaned back, relaxed, chatting away with Ethan like they knew each other well.

The whole scene didn't quite add up.