William widened his eyes. He stood frozen in the doorway, pupils contracting as he stared at the scene in disbelief.
Ashton, the man who couldn’t stand soups of any kind, was now calmly drinking the chicken soup he used to despise with a vengeance. It was like watching a meteor m into Earth or a ck hole get patched up by a wandering asteroid.
As a seasoned executive assistant, William took pride in remainingposed, but even he couldn’t suppress the wild swirl of curiosity rising inside him.
Ashton shot him a nce. “Do you have a lot of free time, William?”
William smiled politely. “I just remembered I left an urgent contract back at the office. I’ll get that signed right away. I’m heading out now, Mr. Fletcher.”
Without another word, he spun on his heel and left.
He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. Vernon had handpicked countless potential matches for Ashton over the years, but he had somehow overlooked one ring category–married women.
Ashton had lived like a monk for years. But when he fell for someone else, it was on an entirely different
level.
William had perfect vision, and he saw it clearly–when Veronica fed him that spoonful, Ashton was
looking at her as if she were the only thing that mattered.
Everything made sense now.
<b>It </b>was no wonder Ashton, who had once taken a bullet to the shoulder and insisted on recovering at home, was now voluntarily holed up in a hospital room. He had even asked the doctor to wrap his arm in
that theatrical bandage.
The truth was, the wound had already scabbed over that very first night. And yet, here he was, still
lounging in a private suite dayster.
William chuckled inwardly. He honestly couldn’t wait to see how Vernon would react once this all got out.
Romances among the rich really yed out like soap operas.
Back inside the room, Veronica continued feeding Ashton spoon by spoon.
When thest drop was gone, Ashton lifted his chin slightly and said, “That’s <b>it</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>
Veronica blinked in surprise<b>. </b>
This wasn’t ordinary chicken soup. It was fortified with medicinal herbs<b>, </b>giving it a slightly bitter
aftertaste. It wasn’t delicious by any usual standard.
She had made a simr one for Miriam and Samuel once. Both of them had flipped their bowls and spat
them out the second they hit their tongues.
“If you liked it, Mr. Fletcher, I’ll make more next time,” she said gently as she tidied up the dishes.
Ashton noticed a few faded burns across her pale palm, likely from oil stters, and his gaze darkened
slightly.
“No need,” he said.
Veronica lowered hershes, making it hard to read her expression. “Still, thank you again for saving me. I’d like to cover your medical expenses this time. You can have Mr. Dell send me the invoice whenever it’s
convenient.”
Ashton looked at her for a long moment. He then let out a low, incredulousugh. “Do I look like I need
money?”
Once again, her tone slipped into that overly polite formality. “Well… if there’s ever anything you need, anything I can help with, feel free to reach out. I owe you a favor,” Veronica said, a little uneasy.
This was the first time she had encountered something like this. Ashton didn’t want money, and with someone like him, she honestly didn’t know what she could offer in return.
But surprisingly, Ashton didn’t turn her down this time.
Just before she left, he casually tossed his phone in front of her. “Add me, Ms. Dolton.”
Without reacting, Veronica opened her phone and scanned his Instagram QR code.
Right then, a call came through.
“Are you really not going to eat anything, Ms. Turner? The chef made something really good today.” Miriam stood by the bedside holding a bowl of food, her face scrunched with concern.
Eleanor, with her paleplexion, shook her head. “My stomach’s been uneasy. I’m not really in the mood for food. You go ahead and eat, Mira.”
Samuel suddenly perked up. “I remember Mom used to make this really good soup when we weren’t feeling well. Let’s get her to make some for you, Ms. Turner.”
“That’s too much trouble. Besides, Veronica’s not feeling great either. I can skip a meal,” Eleanor said
softly.
Samuel didn’t listen. “I’m calling her now. She didn’t even apologize<b>, </b><b>so </b>making soup is the least she can
do.”
Veronica’s soup was always warm, hearty, andforting. If Eleanor had some, she would start feeling
better.
Samuel called Veronica. But this time, it rang for a long while before the tone even came through.
Samuel, growing impatient, frowned. “Mom, what are you doing? Hurry up ande to the private hospital. Make some soup for Ms. Turner!”
What followed was a beeping tone–Veronica had hung up on him.
Samuel stared at the screen, stunned.