"There isn't?" Elena Shen asked in return.
Her voice was still raspy, not fully recovered—tinged with something soft and aggrieved.
Ethan Jiang placed his palm gently on her head, rubbing it lightly. "There's not. It has nothing to do with you, so don't overthink."
With that, he turned toward the walk-in closet to fetch her clothes.
But just as he turned, a soft hand tugged at his wrist.
"There's nothing between me and Adrian," she said again, this time actively clarifying based on her own assumptions—bringing up the question he'd asked her that morning.
"And that night when I had a fever… did I say something wrong?"
Elena genuinely couldn't remember if she'd said anything in a feverish haze. But her survival instinct kicked in immediately. Whether she had or hadn't, she rushed to exonerate herself the moment the question left her lips:
"I was burnt up that night. I wasn't thinking straight. If I said anything, it wasn't real."
She cast a glance at him from under the blanket, half-hiding, one hand sneakily pressing her aching waist and legs.
Her voice grew smaller, almost muttered as she added:
"Nothing said in a half-conscious, feverish state should be considered credible."
So he really couldn't blame her for a few words uttered in a dream.
Especially not to the extent of punishing her waist like that.
Ethan looked down at her.
She was clearly upset but too timid to show it, stealing glances at him while explaining in a fluster.
He suppressed the storm behind his eyes and lowered his gaze to where her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. Before she could pull back, he turned his hand and clasped hers firmly.
He wasn't angry with her.
And he wouldn't be.
What happened last night was a failure of his own restraint, an indulgence in emotions he shouldn't have let surface. He had no right to blame her.
Loving someone—or not loving someone—was never a decision made by sheer willpower.
He knew that better than anyone.
It was just… yesterday, in the parking garage, when she instinctively pushed him away and tried to hide the moment she saw Adrian, that raw, primal jealousy had reared its ugly head.
But none of it was her fault.
He had no right to place that weight on her shoulders.
He'd planned to make it up to her today—to coax her gently after making her cry last night. Adrian, their past, the questions—they were supposed to be buried. Forgotten.
But now, hearing her take the initiative to clarify her relationship with Adrian, Ethan's gaze fell again on her porcelain-like face.
And he asked a question he had sworn he would never ask:
"If Adrian had regretted breaking off the engagement… if he hadn't resisted the family's arrangement from the start—would you have regretted not marrying him?"
Elena blinked.
She hadn't expected that question at all.
But soon enough, she shook her head.
There was no hesitation in her reply.
"No. I wouldn't."
That possibility had never existed.
Adrian would never regret it.
And she would never force a man into marriage against his will.
Hypotheticals like that were meaningless.
They'd never come true.
Elena didn't linger on that pointless assumption. Her attention remained fixed on Ethan.
After she answered, she looked up at him a few times.
Then, after a brief pause and some hesitation, she asked in a soft whisper:
"Are you still mad at me?"
If her waist were subjected to the same intensity as last night again… she might actually die.
Ethan looked into her watery eyes and reached out to ruffle her hair again. "I'm not mad."
Elena studied his expression.
Only when she saw no trace of pretense did she finally relax a little.
To her, it didn't matter if Ethan was cold to her.
Or if they merely coexisted with polite distance.
After all, this was a marriage born from two families' intentions, not love.
As long as he didn't misunderstand her—didn't believe she'd betrayed him—that was enough.
Otherwise, not only would the relationship between the Jiang and Shen families be strained, but her position in the Shen Group would also become precarious.
Now that she'd cleared the biggest hidden danger, the anxious tension that had gripped her all morning finally eased.
And once that string in her mind snapped, the exhaustion and ache—both physical and emotional—came rushing in.
In her current condition, there was no way she would make it to school today. Elena didn't bother struggling. With the weight lifted from her heart, she simply pulled the blanket around herself and lay back down.
Ethan walked out of the closet holding a dress for her, only to find the girl—who had just sluggishly gotten out of bed like a snail—curled up again under the blanket.
This time, though she hadn't buried her entire head like before, most of her face was hidden, leaving only a pair of eyes half-covered by the duvet.
Ethan placed the clothes at the foot of the bed and stood there, looking down at her.
"It's almost eleven. Aren't you hungry?"
Elena barely opened her eyes.
She didn't want to move. Now that the sword hanging over her head was gone, her body—exhausted and overwhelmed—recalled every ache from last night. She couldn't help but think about the torment in the car… and then the bedroom…
And with that memory came the flush of resentment and vulnerability she'd felt the moment she woke up.
But this was Ethan Jiang.
She didn't dare say any of it aloud. Still, she really didn't want to move. So she frowned, tucked her face deeper into the covers, and muttered:
"Not hungry. I don't feel good."
"Not feeling good?" Ethan sat down beside the bed, instinctively reaching out to feel her forehead. "Where does it hurt?"
Elena's voice was muffled further, eyes still closed, The world seemed to tilt around her. "... Everywhere."
Ethan's brows furrowed at once. "I'll call the family doctor."