After the Divorce, the CEO Begged to Remarry Me

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.