Chapter 47

Ethan Blackwood woke with a start, his vision blurry as he took in the sterile white walls of the hospital room. A nurse hurried in, her eyes widening when she saw him conscious.

"Mr. Blackwood! You're finally awake. You've been out for a full day."

"A full day?"

Damn it.

His hemophobia was getting worse. He couldn’t afford to black out at crucial moments. The last thing he remembered before passing out was Vivian Lockhart getting shot. His chest tightened at the memory.

He grabbed the nurse’s wrist, his voice sharp. "How’s Vivian? Is she alright?"

The nurse flinched at his sudden intensity. "Mrs. Lockhart? She only needed minor treatment. She left after bringing you here yesterday."

"Minor treatment?"

Relief washed over him.

Her injuries weren’t as severe as he’d feared.

"Yes. After she was patched up, she left with Mr. Osborne," the nurse added.

"She left with Liam?" Ethan’s jaw clenched. He immediately demanded to be discharged.

Ding dong!

Vivian had just poured hot water into her instant noodles when the doorbell rang.

She frowned. Liam is relentless. I just sent him away—it’s just a scratch, not a life-threatening wound. Can’t I have some peace?

She yanked the door open—and froze.

Ethan stood there, his expression unreadable.

"W-why are you here?"

Shouldn’t he still be in the hospital? I heard his blood phobia is serious.

"Are you alone?"

Instead of answering, he countered with his own question. His sharp gaze swept past her, scanning the apartment like he was searching for an intruder.

"That’s none of your business."

"Of course it is. Even if we’re not married anymore, we’re still neighbors. Can’t I check on you?"

Before she could protest, he pushed past her and stepped inside.

Vivian was speechless. Since when had he become so shameless?

When I was his wife, he never cared. Now he’s suddenly concerned because we’re neighbors?

Ethan prowled through her apartment, inspecting every corner. Only when he confirmed she was alone did his expression soften slightly.

"You’re eating this for dinner?"

He eyed the instant noodles with clear disapproval.

"My hand’s injured. I can’t cook, and takeout isn’t clean."

Her imported noodles were high-quality, packed with nutrients.

"You’re ridiculous."

Despite his complaint, he strode to the kitchen and rummaged through her fridge. Though ingredients were scarce, he managed to whip up three dishes and a soup.

"I didn’t know you could cook."

Vivian stared at the spread, reassessing the cold, aristocratic man in front of her.

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me," he said, placing the food in front of her.

The bullet had grazed her right hand, leaving her struggling to hold a spoon with her left. Noticing this, Ethan took the spoon from her and lifted a bite to her lips.

This… is too intimate.

Her cheeks warmed.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

She had no choice but to comply. The food was surprisingly delicious.

"Women are so troublesome," he muttered.

But his movements were gentle.

They ate in silence, an unspoken understanding between them.

As Vivian chewed, tears pricked her eyes. She had dreamed of this moment countless times during their marriage. She hadn’t asked for his love—just his company at the dinner table.

Yet for four years, she had eaten alone.

Her marriage had been unbearably lonely.

The table had been empty. The bed had been empty. Even her heart had been empty.

Now that he wanted to stay, she no longer needed him.

Solitude suited her just fine.

"I’m full. Thanks for the meal. You can go home now, neighbor."

She wiped her tears and steeled herself, trying to shoo him away.

But Ethan didn’t move. He set the spoon down deliberately.

"I’m staying until you recover."

"That’s unnecessary."

"What you think doesn’t matter."

Before she could argue, he scooped her into his arms.

"Now, I’m giving you a bath and putting you to bed."

What the hell is he planning?

Her pulse spiked.