The next morning, Delia slowly woke up, still feeling a bit groggy.

To her surprise, she was curled up in Curtis's arms. His arm was wrapped loosely around her, breathing calm and steady.

Warm sunlight trickled in through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his peaceful sleeping face and throwing his sharp features into gentle relief.

Delia's heart gave a tiny jolt. A playful impulse bubbled up from nowhere.

She hesitated, then carefully lifted her head, holding her breath.

In a flash, she leaned in and brushed a feather-light kiss against his lips.

But as she pulled back, a pair of deep, clear eyes met hers.

Wait... had Curtis been awake all along?

Delia froze.

He was watching her quietly, his eyes too clear for someone who had just woken up.

It felt like he'd been looking at her like that for a while.

In an instant, her cheeks flamed red-bright and hot like she'd just been set on fire.

Being caught stealing a kiss left her completely flustered and at a loss for words.

"I... uh... I just..." she stammered.

Then she practically launched herself out of bed, tossing the blanket aside. "I'm gonna wash up!"

Before Curtis could even react, she had already dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

He gazed at her fleeing figure, then slowly reached a hand to his lips, fingertips grazing the spot she'd kissed. That soft touch still lingered.

His face stayed unreadable.

"Delia..." he murmured.

A faint blush crept up from his neck to the edges of his ears.

*****

Delia let cold water splash on her face for quite a while before the burning sensation on her cheeks cooled down.

Once she pulled herself together and came out, she found Curtis already sitting up, resting against the headboard.

"Hey, babe, let me help you get up to wash up," she offered, still sounding a little shy.

"I've got it," Curtis replied.

His eyes flicked briefly to her outstretched hand, pausing just a moment too long.

That flicker-a mix of hesitation and resistance-didn't escape Delia's notice.

Her chest tightened. He was still struggling with the self-consciousness his injury had left him.

And she knew, deep down, it was probably her past harsh words that made it worse.

Which only made her more determined to be there for him now.

Before he could refuse again, she gently and firmly took his arm. "It's fine. Let me help you."

With her steady support, Curtis got into his wheelchair, and she wheeled him to the bathroom.

She prepared his toothbrush and laid out warm water, then stepped back quietly to give him space.

She didn't hover or take over-just stayed nearby in case he needed anything.

Her measured, thoughtful care helped ease the tension in Curtis's shoulders a bit.

Then came a soft knock at the bedroom door.

Followed by Edith's polite voice, "Sir, someone from the Stockton estate is here. Says it's important and they wish to speak with you."

Curtis paused mid-movement, a barely noticeable crease forming between his brows.

Visits from the old house rarely meant anything good-usually blame, or demands out of nowhere.

Back then, Delia wouldn't just stand by doing nothing. She used to mock him, sometimes even make things worse.

Hearing that, Delia's stomach dropped.

Old memories came flooding back, all unpleasant.

She glanced at Curtis and saw the subtle storm brewing in his eyes. Clearly, he didn't want to deal with this right now.

A thought popped into her head.

"Tell them to wait downstairs," Delia called out toward the door.

Then, turning to Curtis, she softened her voice. "You go wash up, I'll handle the people downstairs."

Curtis shot her a surprised look.

Delia wanted to face the Stockton family for him?

Wasn't she the one who usually kept her distance from this kind of mess, even secretly wishing the family would make things hard for him?

Seeing the confusion in his eyes, Delia's guilt deepened.

But she forced a small smile. "I'm your wife, remember? Isn't that part of the job?"

"Babe, don't worry. They're in our house, not like they can cause real trouble."

There wasn't a trace of hesitation in her steady gaze.

Curtis stayed silent a beat, then finally gave a slight nod. "Just be careful."

With his okay, Delia took a deep breath and straightened herself up.

She opened the door and said to Edith, who was waiting outside, "Edith, take me to them."

Edith looked slightly stunned for a second, but quickly regained her composure and replied politely, "Of course, ma'am. This way please."

Down in the living room, a few people sat with visible arrogance etched on their faces.

As soon as they saw it was only Delia coming down, the air shifted-clearly displeased.

The middle-aged man in front, Curtis's father, Craig Stockton, let out a cold snort and said with disdain, "Just you? Where's Curtis? Thinks he's too important to greet his own father now?"

Delia actually chuckled. "Wow, this is something... Barging into someone else's house uninvited, yelling like you own the place. And now you wanna micromanage when my husband decides to come say hi?"

The moment her words dropped, the room stiffened.

"Delia!" Craig's face darkened, "That's your tone? Who gave you the nerve to talk to me like that? Edith, go get Curtis right now, make him see what kind of woman he married!"

Watching him lose it over one sentence, Delia just smiled calmly.

"Sir, I think you're barking up the wrong tree."

Her tone was lazy but sharp. "Calling your daughter-in-law rude without a second thought-don't you think that says more about your own manners?"

Delia hadn't cared much about Curtis in her previous life, but even then, she knew Craig never saw him as worthy. He only doted on Matthew, his son with Vanessa Granger.

Seeing that kind of blatant favoritism now, she couldn't help but feel angry for Curtis.

"You... You've completely lost your mind!" Craig choked on his fury, his face turning red from blue as he lashed out.

"Dad, why waste words on her?" Matthew snapped from beside him.

He glared at Delia with that snake-like stare, oozing provocation.

Next to him, Vanessa added sharply, "Craig, don't bother arguing with her, just make Curtis come down."

"This rude girl-she..." Craig fumed, but then a deep, calm voice cut him off.

"No need to call for me. I'm here." Curtis slowly appeared at the staircase.

He'd changed into a crisp shirt, his expression even colder than usual.

He wheeled himself over to Delia's side, stopping just slightly ahead of her.

The second Craig saw him, he immediately redirected his anger.

"Curtis, good timing. Tell me straight-are you behind what's happening with Matthew?!"

Curtis's brows drew together slightly, while Delia, standing next to him, felt a sharp flicker of confusion.

Matthew was getting targeted?

It reminded her of the recent attempt on Curtis's life. And just like that, everything clicked into place.

So that's what's really going on.

She didn't give Curtis a chance to speak, cutting right in with a biting tone. "Matthew messed with the wrong person, got himself beaten up, and now you're blaming my husband instead of asking what stunt your precious son pulled?"

"Oh, so something shady went down and karma finally caught up with you? Feeling guilty now, aren't you?"

Craig's face flushed red then turned pale, mouth half-open like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Matthew clenched his jaw, glaring at Delia like he wanted to burn her with his eyes.

"You're just a mouthy tramp!" Craig jabbed a finger at Delia, then swung toward Curtis, yelling, "You begged me to approve this marriage! And this is how she treats your father? You better explain yourself!"

"A woman like that doesn't deserve to be a Stockton! Aren't you two divorcing anyway? Get it over with already!" Vanessa snapped, her face dark with anger.

But Delia didn't even look at them. Her mind was spinning.

Curtis begged for their marriage?

She turned to look at him, stunned, her heart thudding.

There was an odd mix of sweetness and confusion bubbling inside her.

She'd always assumed this was a typical family arrangement. It never occurred to her that he had asked for it.

Why? They hadn't exactly been close before.

Curtis, hearing his father dig up the past just to attack Delia, stiffened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

"My marriage is my business. And as for giving an explanation? I think Delia's got a point."

He shifted his gaze to Craig. "I'm not divorcing her. Not before, not now, not ever."

"You-!" Vanessa shot up from the couch, her voice shrill. "Absolutely not! She's disrespectful and toxic-she doesn't belong in this family! Curtis, you have to divorce her right now!"

Worked up beyond reason, Vanessa's fury peaked. Seeing the mocking smile on Delia's face, she raised her hand to slap her.

"Vanessa!" Craig cried out.

"Mom!" Matthew panicked.

Curtis's face changed instantly. He tried pushing his wheelchair forward, but it was way too slow.

Yet just a breath before Vanessa's hand was about to land, Delia leaned back smoothly and dodged it.

Her face calm, she reached up, quick as lightning, and grabbed Vanessa's wrist before she could pull back.

Vanessa froze, caught off guard, and before she could react, Delia yanked her forward and raised her other hand without hesitation.

Smack!

A sharp slap rang out, loud and unforgiving. Vanessa stumbled back, nearly tripping.

A bright red palm mark flared on her cheek.

She looked stunned, clutching her face, staring at Delia in disbelief.

The living room went dead silent.

Craig and Matthew were frozen, mouths open in shock.

Even Curtis, wide-eyed, stared at Delia standing tall and unyielding.

Delia flexed her tingling hand as if she'd just swatted a mosquito.

Her lips curved into a sly, defiant grin. "You want us to divorce? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Vanessa, face burning, stood stiff with rage and humiliation, but didn't dare charge again.

Craig's expression darkened, his chest heaving.

Delia stood there, full of fire, clearly not someone to push around.

All eyes once again turned to Curtis, who hadn't said a word during the whole scene.

"Curtis." Craig tried hard to keep his temper in check as he pointed at Matthew. "Look at your brother-bruised all over, face swollen and limping. Don't tell me you didn't send someone to do this?"

With that accusation, Delia turned her eyes to Matthew.

Sure enough, the parts of his skin not covered by clothes were already turning purple and blue. There was a split at the corner of his mouth, and a big bruise on his cheekbone. Even though he tried to hide it with his collar, the way he walked spoke volumes.

He'd clearly gotten a serious beatdown.

And looking at them barging in like this, what else could it be about?

Delia thought back to that attack. Her lips curved in a cold smile.

This was just payback for what Matthew had done.

She knew exactly what had happened.

But on the surface, she acted shocked, letting out a laugh laced with sarcasm.

"That's a baseless accusation," she said, her tone sharp with frustration. "Which one of your eyes saw my husband give the order? Blaming him without proof-what kind of logic is that?"

Curtis didn't plan on saying anything initially.

But Delia gently pressed his shoulder, signaling him to hold back.

A strange emotion flickered in his chest.

Being shielded by someone like this-it was a new feeling.

So he decided to stay silent a bit longer, to see what she would do next.

With Curtis staying quiet, Delia grew more confident.

She stepped forward, eyes fierce, voice sharper than before. "Sounds to me like Matthew's been going around causing trouble and finally got what he deserved."

"Or maybe... you're just feeling guilty, so now you're pointing fingers at Curtis hoping no one looks too closely?"

"That's nonsense!" Craig snapped, but he couldn't really deny it either.

He did suspect something, sure-but it was his son after all.

And Curtis? He never thought much of him, especially now that he was disabled.

He wasn't someone he could trust.

"Got any proof? If not, how can you just accuse him like that?" Delia scoffed. "Matthew's messed with too many people. You have no clue who might've done this. So you decided to pick the quiet one to throw blame on?"

"You never saw Curtis as your son, did you?"

"You-" Craig's face alternated between red and pale.

Delia folded her arms and rolled her eyes at them without a hint of respect.

"You bitch! Keep running your mouth and I'll shut it for you!"

Matthew, already hot-headed and emotionally unstable, snapped.

After being insulted over and over-and seeing his father speechless-he lunged at Delia with his fist raised.

Luckily, a bodyguard stepped in just in time and stopped him.

"That's enough." Curtis's voice cut through the room like ice. "Edith, show them out."

Edith stepped forward immediately, bowing slightly. "Yes, sir."

She threw a look at the bodyguards.

Without hesitation, the strong, well-trained guards moved in.

They didn't bother with pleasantries and forcefully herded the Stocktons out.

"Curtis, how dare you treat me like this! You ungrateful son!"

"Let me go! How dare you touch me, you damn servants!"

But the guards didn't even flinch. Ignoring the yelling, they completed their task-escorting the three straight to the door and out of the house.

Delia stood at the entrance, coldly watching them get thrown out of the villa.

When they finally disappeared from view, she let out a sigh of relief.

She turned around, her face lighting up with a smile. "Next time someone comes knocking just to cause trouble, I'll kick them out myself."

Curtis looked away, a bit flustered by her radiant smile.

He closed his eyes for a second, ears tinged with red. "Thanks."

"No need for that," Delia leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Babe..."

"No matter what happens, just know-I've got your back."

Curtis's lashes trembled, and his heart skipped a beat.