Chapter 323 Midnight Hunger


    Third Person POV


    8 Pearis


    When Aubrey finally woke, it was deep into the night. Hunger gnawed at her, but more than that, the heat roused her–Henry’s heat.


    At some point, he had climbed onto the narrow cot, arms locked tightly around her. His chest pressed to her back, the furnace of his body soaking her skin until sweat beaded at her nape. She shifted, only to find his hold unyielding, even in sleep, a reflexive im he would not release.


    She turned her head. In the wash of moonlight through the window, his eyes remained shut, his breathing steady, though his brow bore the faint lines of strain. She thought of the agony he had taken on in her stead, and something in her heart softened despite herself. She could not wake him.


    Carefully, she lifted the heavy arm draped across her waist, slipped free, and eased toward the floor.


    But before her feet touched the ground, a low, husky voice broke the silence.


    “Where are you going?”


    She froze, then turned back. His eyes were open, sharp and lucid–he hadn’t been asleep at all.


    Suppressing a sigh, she answered, “I’m going to the kitchen. I’m hungry.”


    “Have the staff make something.”


    “It’s three in the morning,” she countered. “No need to trouble anyone.”


    Henry sat up, swinging his legs down. “Then I’lle with you.”


    “You can’t cook.”


    “Who says I can’t?” His brow arched. Cooking couldn’t be harder than leading a pack.


    “You’ll just get in the way.”


    “I’ll help,” he said simply. “Besides, I’m hungry too.”


    She relented, and the two of them slipped into theb’s small kitchen rather than the main house. The fridge held little, so Aubrey pulled out a bundle of dry noodles.


    “Looks like it’s pasta.”


    Chapter 323 Midnight Hunger


    43


    + Pearls.


    Henry had no objection. With few ingredients, preparation was quick. He sat back and watched as she cracked eggs, whisked them smooth, and lowered the noodles into boiling water with practiced ease.


    Steam fogged the air, wrapping around her face, softening her features. The faint upward curve of her lips, the concentration in her eyes–it made Henry’s pulse thrum. Hunger twisted deeper, not just in his stomach. He tore his gaze away before it betrayed him.


    He had been starving for far too long.


    “Eat.”


    She set the bowl before him. He tried it, and despite himself, looked faintly surprised—her cooking was good.


    When thest bite was gone and the dishes washed, Aubrey excused herself to rest. Henry followed at once, close at her heels.


    She blocked the doorway, tilting her chin up at him. “My dear brother,” she said, the word bitten sharp, “if you’ve forgotten where your room is, I can send someone to guide you.”


    The word “brother” was a deliberate knife. Henry’s eyes narrowed, then a suddenugh slipped free.


    “You know,” he murmured, bracing one hand on the frame to bar her from closing the door, “when you call me brother, all I hear is y. I don’t mind if you say it a few more times.”


    Her expression iced over. “Funny. A few days ago, someone swore he’d never beg again, that we were finished. And now? Are you begging me to let you in?”


    The memory of that quarrel cut, but Henry refused to be cornered. He scoffed. “I’m not begging. The Miguel estate is mine. I go where I please. What right do you have to bar me?”


    Infuriatingly, it was hard to refute. Aubrey’s face chilled.


    “Fine. If you want the room, I’ll leave.”


    But she hadn’t taken two steps before his arms swept around her, lifting her clean off the floor.


    Startled, she gasped, “Henry! What are you doing?!”


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