CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER 195: HOLLY, I THINK I HAVE A FEVER—FEEL MY FOREHEAD

The night grew deeper and richer, with only a bedside lamp illuminating the room.

The warm yellow glow outlined the two people embracing on the bed, their shadows cast on the wall, intimately close.

Blake Sinclair finally laid bare the secrets he had kept for over a decade.

He offered no defense for himself, instead laying everything from the past before Holly Crowe.

Holly lay quietly in his arms, her ear against the quick heartbeat that revealed his deeply hidden unease.

Listening to him describe those lonely years and the carefully hidden deep feelings, cowardice, and trepidation in a calm tone.

A wave of sore pain spread from her heart, and she couldn’t control the heat in her eyes.

When she heard him finally say, "My Yarrow has finally flown back," tears finally fell.

She lifted her head, looking at him with tear-filled eyes.

In the light, his eyes overflowed with sincere hope.

She reached out, gently touching his furrowed brow, "Blake Sinclair, you fool."

She sniffled, but the tears only flowed more fiercely: "Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you endure so much alone? If I had known earlier, would we have not missed each other for so long? Would there have been fewer misunderstandings and hurt?"

In her questioning, there was no blame, only endless heartache and regret.

For his solitary ten-year-long crush, for the time they wasted together for nothing.

Blake Sinclair felt her heartache, and his heart softened into a puddle.

He held the hand she placed on his brow, pressing it to his cheek, "I was afraid, Holly. I feared that once you knew, you’d find me terrifying, think my mind too deep, see my love as a burden.

I was more afraid you’d distance yourself from me because of it. I’d rather you knew nothing, stay by my side just like that, even if you blamed or hated me, I’d accept it."

His honesty, laden with desperate humility, made Holly’s heart ache even more.

"No! Blake Sinclair, listen!"

She shook her head, cupping his face, "Your love has never been a burden."

"Blake Sinclair, let the past, whether sweet or painful, whether your concealment or my oblivion, stay in the past. Let’s not torment each other anymore, not miss each other again, okay?"

She looked into his eyes, making a promise: "From now on, we will always be together. No more concealments, no lies, only us. I will love you well, and make up for the time lost in the past.

You will always be my Yarrow, and I will always be your Holly."

These vows filled Blake Sinclair with ecstatic joy.

After years of wandering, he finally heard an answer at this moment.

He held the person in his arms tightly, unable to contain his joy, "Holly, Holly..."

He called her name over and over, as if trying to make up for the weight of the past ten years, "Thank you, thank you for remembering me, thank you for still being willing to love me, willing to forgive me."

"I promise you, I will never lie to you again, never hide anything from you again."

Holly hugged him back, her face deeply buried in his neck, inhaling the reassuring clean scent from his body, "Mm, I trust you."

She lifted her head and kissed his lips, a kiss light with care and love, slowly deepening.

"The past is in the past, Blake Sinclair."

She looked into his eyes, her reflection clear and the only one in there.

"I won’t leave you anymore. We will be together forever, okay?"

"Okay. Together forever."

Once emotions have an outlet, they can no longer be contained.

Their breath gradually became warmer, his kisses falling again, carrying more confirmation and devotion than before, yet also long-repressed desire.

Her skirt slipped off her shoulder, his warm hands burning her heart into surprise.

In the midst of a chaotic passion, the phone suddenly rang.

It was Director Lennon calling.

Holly suddenly came back to her senses, hurriedly pushing Blake Sinclair away, searching for her phone in the bag.

Blake Sinclair grumbled discontentedly, yet he still somewhat domineeringly circled her waist, his fingers lightly stroking her sensitive waist, with an obvious hint of suggestion and retention.

Holly glared at him reproachfully, signaling him with her eyes to behave, before answering the call.

"Mom, yeah... I’m outside... I’ve got something going on... I’ll be back in a bit."

"Don’t wait for me, you all go to sleep first... I’m not eating, yeah, I had a big dinner..."

She tried to make her voice sound natural, handling Director Lennon’s inquiries.

Blake Sinclair heard she was still planning to go back, and the light in his eyes instantly darkened, filled with reluctance.

He leaned close, his lips almost touching her earlobe, softly pleading, "Do you have to go? Holly, stay, please? Hmm?"

He was now wearing loose loungewear, a few buttons at the collar undone from earlier movements.

In the dim, ambiguous light, he exuded a deadly allure.

However, Holly’s reason had returned, not bewitched by his looks.

She firmly pulled down his mischievous hand from her waist, her tone non-negotiable: "No, I have to go home."

"This is your home too," Blake Sinclair tried to resist, his gaze aggrieved.

Holly found his clinginess somewhat amusing.

She reached out, gently scratching his chin, her tone softening a bit, "Good, see you tomorrow."

That "see you tomorrow," was a direct announcement that their intimate time tonight was over, without room for negotiation.

A flicker of loss passed through Blake Sinclair’s eyes, but he knew he couldn’t push too hard.

He grasped her hand that was retracting, gently squeezing her palm to express his displeasure.

But he could only compromise, "Shall I take you?"

"No need."

Holly withdrew her hand, stood up, and tidied her dress, "The driver can take me. It’s late, you’ve just been in the water, don’t go back and forth, rest well."

With that, she didn’t give him a chance to tangle, picked up her bag and coat, and turned to leave the room.

Blake Sinclair accompanied her to the car, watching her get in.

As the car slowly drove away from Sinclair Manor, merging into the night, he finally withdrew his longing gaze.

His heart felt empty, as if the warmth and intimacy from earlier had been a mere illusion.

Not long after returning to his room, Auntie Ward arrived with the family doctor.

"Blake, the doctor is here. Shirley caught a bit of a chill, has a low fever, she’s taken medicine and is sleeping. You should let the doctor check too? You were in cold water and wind, catching a fever wouldn’t be good."

Blake Sinclair initially wanted to wave it off, knowing his own body well.

But as the words reached his lips, a thought crossed his mind, his eyes moved slightly, and he swallowed back his words, obediently nodding: "Alright. Thank you, Auntie Ward."

The next day, when Holly woke up, it was almost noon.

The sky was overcast, it seemed like a heavy rain was coming.

Yawning, she walked out of the bedroom, finding breakfast prepared by Director Lennon and Teacher Crowe on the dining table.

But with the weather cooling, the buns had become hard as rocks.

Holly hesitated over the buns for three seconds.

Should she die of starvation or choking?

Or struggle a bit?

Finally, her stomach protested.

She walked into the kitchen, adding some water to the pot, placing the buns on the steamer.

Just as she turned on the stove, a knocking came from the door.

Holly went to open it.

As soon as the door opened, a dark figure rushed in, holding her in a tight embrace.

"Holly, I think I have a fever, feel it, I’m so uncomfortable."