My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 67:

Oliver caught a glimpse of Carrie’s distress and ventured cautiously, “Mrs. Norris seems to be quite ill. Should we not take her to the hospital?” At the mere suggestion of a hospital, Carrie stirred in her feverish state, clutching desperately at Kristopher’s suit with childlike panic. “I’m not going! No!”

Kristopher paused, his thoughts clearly weighing on him, before he instructed, “Get the doctor to our house. You wait in the living room.”

With urgency, he swiftly ascended the staircase to the master bedroom, Carrie still in his arms. The house was quiet, devoid of any housekeepers. He noticed her drenched attire. Almost instinctively, he drew a blanket from the bed, spread it carefully, and laid her down on it.

This was unfamiliar territory for him. He rubbed his temples, visibly disturbed by the situation.

After a moment, Kristopher strode to the closet with a stern expression and retrieved a set of pajamas for her. Carrie, drifting in and out of consciousness, blinked her eyes open. Her vision was blurry, but she recognized the contours of the familiar room. Her fever induced a dizzy haze, making the room appear to whirl around her.

When she saw Kristopher approaching with a look of concern, holding her pajamas, she could hardly believe it. It felt like nothing more than a dream, just a fleeting illusion in her mind. She couldn’t believe it—Kristopher, of all people, was showing such concern for her.

As Kristopher came closer and began to help her change, her body tensed involuntarily, haunted by the memories of the recent unpleasant incident in the car. Noticing her discomfort, Kristopher’s voice softened, his patience thinning but gentle. “Change out of your wet clothes into these dry ones before you rest.”

“Okay,” she responded, too weary to argue with what she believed was merely a figment of her imagination. She began to unbutton her blouse.

Noticing her action, Kristopher discreetly turned away. His expression altered subtly, confirming in Carrie’s mind that even in her dream, he maintained a respectful distance. Revisiting their shared moments, she realized his gestures had been more about fulfilling a need than showing affection, making her feel reprimanded instead of cherished.

Carrie didn’t linger on the thought. With haste, she changed into fresh clothes and slipped under the covers of her bed. The plush silk quilt embraced her—a luxury she could never resist. She sank into a fitful sleep, the comfort of the quilt a stark contrast to the turmoil in her mind.

Kristopher paused at the threshold of the bedroom, his gaze lingering on Carrie as she slept serenely. His eyes then drifted to the scattered clothes on the floor.

Muttering to himself, Kristopher mused, “What am I to do with these?”

The next morning arrived. Carrie’s eyes fluttered open, her vision clouded and slow to clear. As her surroundings gradually came into view—the opulent master bedroom she knew so well—memories of the previous night surfaced, along with the vivid image of Kristopher’s worried expression in her dream. She massaged her throbbing temples, trying to dispel the remnants of the dream. She had allowed herself to wallow in fantasies for far too long, over two years of wishful thinking. It was time to put an end to it. After all, it had been just a dream.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock. Before she had a chance to respond, the door creaked open. An unfamiliar middle-aged woman entered, bearing a tray.

“Who are you?” Carrie asked, her voice tinged with confusion and curiosity.

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