Chapter 437: Consequences and Fever
Yunice glanced up. “You’re still here?”
Wyatt looked down at her, gaze sharp. “I’m not some bastard who runs off after getting laid.”
“Oh.” Yunice didn’t catch the sarcasm.
She shifted a bit under the covers. When her arm slipped out, she realized there was nothing on her under the blanket–and decided she really didn’t want to get up.
Seeing her fidget, Wyatt asked, “Still not feeling well?”
“My whole body aches,” Yunice muttered, clearly annoyed.
Wyatt perked up, turning toward her. “Want me to give you a massage?”
“No,” she said firmly.
She knew how insatiable men could get once they’d tasted intimacy. Her body was too delicate to go another round so soon–she didn’t want to be broken in half.
Too tired to move, Yunice stayed curled up in the blanket and made small talk. “You don’t move like someone inexperienced.”
Wyatt raised a brow. “Was that a compliment?”
Yunice didn’t deny it–he really had been skilled.
After years working in hospitals, she’d seen plenty of people lacking even basic sexual understanding. Most just charged in blindly. Some couldn’t even find the right place, leaving their partners miserable.
Wyatt replied, “Read enough theory and you’ll be fine. The hardest part’s just self–control.”
And it had been very hard to hold back.
Propping himself up, Wyatt looked down into her eyes and reminded her, “We didn’t use protection last night. Might be a baby in there.”
Under the blanket, his hand rested gently over her stomach, his eyes lit with hope.
He was twenty–eight, married now, and he wanted a child.
Neither he nor Yunice had come from loving homes, but he believed they could build something better—a real family.
Before Yunice could respond, a knock came from the office outside.
Wyatt glanced toward the sound. “I’ll go check.”
He lifted a corner of the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed to get dressed. Yunice caught another glimpse of the tattoo on his waist, partially hidden. What did the full design look like?
Wyatt pulled on his shirt and left the lounge.
Yunice slowly sat up, slipping on some clothes in his absence.
She had planned to shower, but as soon as she sat upright, her vision darkened and a wave of dizziness hit her.
When Wyatt came back in, he found her sitting still, eyes closed, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“Headache?” He set down what he’d brought and sat beside her.
Placing a hand over hers, he felt something off. Then he leaned in and gently pressed his forehead to hers.
As he suspected—warm.
Leaning back against the pillows, Yunice murmured, her voice soft and slow, “I think I’ve got a fever. No wonder everything hurts.”
Wyatt frowned. He’d been careful–how had she still gotten sick?
Worried, he reached for his phone to call Dr. Du Zhongying, but Yunice stopped him. “Don’t trouble him. I’ll do some moxibustion later. It’ll pass.”
Still, to be safe, she asked Wyatt to get her an antigen rapid test. Thankfully, it showed no sign of infection - just a regular cold.
Wyatt had gone out earlier to get breakfast. Knowing she hadn’t eaten the night before, he brought back a bowl of congee and fed her by hand. “No point in moving around. Stay here and rest. I’ll come get you after work.”
Yunice nodded softly, too weak to argue.
Wyatt worked just outside the lounge. When needed, he handled business with staff in the outer office. As soon as they left, he’d come back in with tea or water for her.
Yunice slept fitfully through the day. Her fever eased, but she was still too drained to do much.
Her sudden illness also delayed any plans Wyatt had for Paul.
But the Powell family? They were already in full–blown chaos.
“That ungrateful bastard! He really tried to beat Boyu to death over some woman?!”
Jackson had already smashed half the study.
Paul had passed out the moment he got home. After an exam, they discovered three broken ribs, a fractured nose, and a rib that had nearly punctured an organ.
He’d been in a coma for three days and had only just regained consciousness.
Jackson called Wyatt and demanded he drag Yunice home at once.
Wyatt didn’t give a damn. He answered calls when he felt like it—otherwise, he ignored them.
Fuming, Jackson tried sending Jensen, but even Jensen didn’t dare face Wyatt now.
In the end, Jackson hauled his old bones over in person, cane in hand, all the way to Wyatt’s office.
“Mr. Wyatt isn’t in,” Jordan said, blocking him at the door.
Jackson slammed his cane down with a loud crack and glared. “Kid, go ask your grandfather if he ever dared get in my way!”
Jordan’s face tightened.
The old man then barked past him, “Wyatt! What, you only know how to hide from me like a coward?!” Inside the lounge, Wyatt was calmly changing the sheets.