CHAPTER 121: CHAPTER 121: NOT FIT TO SHARE A ROOM

The promised dinner never happened.

Blake Sinclair looked at her with that "I’m fine, no problem" expression, feeling both pained and anxious. Rolling up his sleeves, he headed to the kitchen, attempting to ease the tension: "Hungry? What do you want to eat? I’ll cook something."

Just as he opened the refrigerator door, the doorbell rang.

Holly got to the door ahead of him and returned after a while, carrying two takeout bags.

"No need to bother," her tone was flat and emotionless, "I ordered takeout."

Blake Sinclair closed the refrigerator door and nodded, "Okay, takeout works too."

As he spoke, he naturally walked to the dining table, sitting opposite her, waiting to share the meal.

But it was as if Holly didn’t see him; she opened the takeout bags on her own.

Seeing the food she laid out, Blake Sinclair’s heart sank bit by bit.

A salad, a serving of pasta, a large iced milk tea, all single servings, without even an extra pair of chopsticks.

"Holly, what about mine?"

Holly, while breaking open the chopsticks, seemed to suddenly realize, looking up at him.

She forced a fake smile, full of sarcasm: "I forgot, but you probably don’t like this kind of food anyway, since you must have had lots of pasta and pizza in Brelond."

She deliberately dragged out her words, and finished by taking a big sip of the iced milk tea.

Blake Sinclair frowned at the cup of iced milk tea full of ice in her hand, "Holly, drinking something this cold at night will upset your stomach."

Holly lifted her eyelids to glance at him upon hearing this.

She pushed the milk tea further away, with a fake smile, "Alright, I won’t drink it. Is this okay, Mr. Sinclair?"

That last sentence, she deliberately slowed her pace, imitating the aggrieved yet tolerant tone Shannon Yarrow had used not long ago.

Blake Sinclair’s heart felt sharply twisted, both sore and swollen.

He let go of all pretenses, his voice filled with pleading, "Holly, can you not do this? I know you’re angry, you can hit me or scold me, just don’t treat yourself like this, and don’t... talk to me this way."

Holly acted as if she didn’t hear him, got up directly, "I’m full, going to take a shower first."

The night was deep.

When Blake Sinclair came out after his shower, the bedroom was empty.

His heart clenched tightly, panic spreading unexpectedly.

He hurriedly walked out to the living room in his slippers, and saw Holly nestled on the sofa, video chatting with someone.

His heart sighed with relief.

But upon hearing another male voice, his barely calmed heart lifted high again.

The person on the other end of the screen was Aiden Jenson.

The two were talking about something, with a smile on Holly’s face that he hadn’t seen all night.

When she noticed Blake Sinclair’s presence, her smile faded a bit, and she told the screen, "Aiden, let’s leave it here for now, I’ll call you back later."

Blake Sinclair’s chest felt tight and sour, indescribably.

Having talked for so long, and still planning to call later?

As he stepped forward wanting to speak, Holly had already stood up, without even glancing at him, brushing past him.

He watched helplessly as she walked towards the other bedroom, his heart sinking sharply, chasing after her, blocking the door just before she could close it.

"Holly, you..." his voice was dry.

Holly seemed to suddenly remember something, and vaguely said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you, we’ll start sleeping in separate rooms from tonight."

Separate rooms?!

Blake Sinclair only felt darkness before his eyes, the sky collapsing, instinctively asking, "W-why?"

Was she leaving him?

Holly looked up, looking at him earnestly, "Because Bianca Tom said that Pisces and Leo should start avoiding each other from today, so it’s not suitable to share a room."

Who is Bianca Tom?

What is a retrograde?

What does it mean to be at odds?!

Blake Sinclair was dumbfounded, watching the door close mercilessly in front of him, even hearing the click of the lock turning inside.

He lifted his hand, frozen at the door, ultimately letting it fall powerlessly.

The whole night, Blake Sinclair tossed and turned, hardly sleeping a wink.

Even though The Grandflora Gardens had excellent soundproofing, he could vaguely hear Holly and Aiden Jenson’s soft laughter from the other room.

Every slight sound was magnified several times over in this sleepless night; closing his eyes, he could only see Holly’s angry silhouette, until about three or four in the morning, he finally managed to fall asleep.

The next day, he calculated the time Holly usually got up to make breakfast.

But when breakfast was on the table, there was no movement from the other bedroom.

Blake Sinclair deliberately put on the shirt she praised to look good a few days ago, tidying himself up meticulously before knocking on the door.

No one responded from inside.

A bad premonition slowly rose from the bottom of his heart. Blake Sinclair found a spare key from the safe in the study, and opened the door to the other bedroom.

She wasn’t there.

He immediately checked the surveillance, discovering that Holly had left early at dawn.

Did she really get up so early just to avoid him?

In the evening, when he returned from work, Holly was still sitting in the dining room eating her takeout and milk tea just like yesterday.

She merely cast him a brief glance, and after showering, locked herself in the guest room as usual.

Blake Sinclair looked at that tightly closed door, feeling as if his heart was soaking in sour water.

The next morning, Holly was awakened by the alarm clock, and two consecutive days of sleep deprivation left her head heavy and muddled.

The sky was not yet light.

Holly groggily fought off her sleepiness, got up, washed, and changed clothes, and as soon as she stepped out of the bedroom, she saw the silent figure on the sofa.

Blake Sinclair sat alone on the sofa in the middle of the living room. He hadn’t turned on the lights, and his whole being was enveloped in the intersection of natural light and shadows.

Amid the dimness, he resembled a solitary mountain, bearing the wind, frost, rain, and snow alone in a forgotten wilderness.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he turned his head to look at her.

From darkness to light, the soft glow cast on the side of his face revealed an overwhelming fatigue and loneliness in his eyes.

Those usually deep eyes seemed at that moment to be covered in a veil of mist, having lost all their spark, leaving only careful dimness and pain.

He just looked at her like that.

"Holly."

He spoke, his voice carrying the dryness and hoarseness of a sleepless night, "You don’t have to avoid me like this."

Midway through speaking, he paused, accompanied by an almost humble compromise, with each word seeming to exhaust all his strength, "In the future, I’ll wait to leave the bedroom until after you’ve gone."

Each word he said was light, but they weighed heavily on Holly’s heart.

It was as if something was lodged in her throat, making her unable to say a word.

Before she could react, Blake Sinclair was already supporting himself with the armrest of the sofa, struggling to stand up.

Perhaps having maintained one posture for too long, his body visibly stiffened and his steps faltered when he stood up.

Just at that moment, the dawn’s light suddenly pierced through the clouds, shining in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Illuminating the entire room’s gray haze, it also lit up Blake Sinclair’s haggard face and the gray stubble on his jaw.

Holly’s heart sank again and again.

Could it be that Blake Sinclair had sat there in the living room all night without moving?

She suddenly felt a congestion in her heart, making it hard to breathe, sour and swollen.

What are they doing?

Are they torturing each other?

She was angry at herself, even more so at him for not taking care of himself.

Blake Sinclair had already reached the door, smiling slightly, "It’s still early, you should go back to sleep for a while. I’ll be heading out now."

...

In the following days, Holly no longer got up early to purposely avoid him, but she still ate takeout alone, drank iced milk tea, and slept in the guest room.

The only change was that Blake Sinclair returned home earlier and earlier in the evenings, always preparing a table full of dishes she loved before she got there, even if she didn’t eat them.

The two were stuck in a silent tug of war, a cold war.

That night, as usual, Holly walked in carrying takeout.

The scent of plum blossom pork ribs wafting from the kitchen pierced her nose, but she steeled herself and walked to the table with her takeout.

She poked at the rice in her bowl, bland and tasteless, like chewing wax.

Compared to the dishes Blake Sinclair made, this takeout was not just a little inferior.

Her stomach was empty, yet she had no appetite.

But she wouldn’t admit defeat, forcing herself to keep eating.

She remembered how Blake Sinclair used to always change up the meals he cooked for her, knowing she liked sweets, he’d add two extra spoons of sugar to the ribs; aware of her bad stomach, he’d stop her from drinking iced milk tea, but now?

The more she thought, the more aggrieved she felt. Since the separation into different rooms, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep; the guest room’s bed was empty and cold, and she always fell asleep groggily only in the latter half of the night.

Eating poorly, sleeping poorly as well.

Blake Sinclair obviously knew she was angry, yet he didn’t coax her, didn’t apologize, didn’t explain, said nothing, stiffer than a block of wood!

He only made a table full of dishes to tempt her every day, then watched her eat this awful takeout!

Her nose tingled, and without warning, tears started to fall, landing in her rice as big as beads.

She defiantly shoved a spoonful of rice mixed with tears into her mouth, the salty, astringent flavor spreading across her palate, sour and salty, unbearably awful!

She took a large gulp of iced milk tea, the sweet saccharine taste making her throat ache, yet she couldn’t suppress the sourness in her heart.

Her throat was both sweet and bitter, just like her feelings.

Seeing Blake Sinclair already coming out of the kitchen with dishes in hand, Holly didn’t want him to see her in this wretched state, so she got up and tossed the barely eaten takeout and milk tea into the garbage.

As he emerged, she turned and went back to the guest room, slamming the door with a "bang".

Outside the door, Blake Sinclair looked at the takeout she had barely touched, his brow furrowing tightly.

In the middle of the night, Holly was awakened by a spasmodic pain.

Her stomach felt like it was being kneaded and hammered by multiple fists at once, with her insides churning violently, the pain curling her up on the bed, drenched in cold sweat.

She knew it was undoubtedly because she’d been drinking iced milk tea for several consecutive days, not eating properly, and coupled with her low spirits, her chronic stomach ailment flared up again.

People are particularly vulnerable when sick; the front she had stubbornly maintained crumbled in that instant.

She bit her lip, sobbing quietly, and then her emotions collapsed, a mix of grievance and pain, causing her cries to grow louder.

Amidst her tear-blurred vision, she heard the door handle turn, followed by the familiar footsteps approaching, filled with urgency.