After the Divorce, the CEO Begged to Remarry Me

Thinking about it that way, Carol didn't feel so against Jack's long list of dietary restrictions anymore. She mentally jotted them all down.

When Ethan sat down at the table, Jack figured there was no need to order from Golden Hearth today, so he quietly stepped out to make a call and rearrange things.

The vibe at the table was... a bit awkward.

Carol broke the silence, reaching for the serving fork as she glanced at the roasted chicken and vegetables in the center of the table.

"Ginger glaze. Makes the skin really crisp. Might be a little strong, though."

She carved off a tender slice from the breast, avoiding the heavily glazed skin, and laid it gently on Ethan's plate.

"I know ginger's not really your thing. This one's milder."

Ethan looked down at the chicken, then at Carol's quiet focus. His eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful.

Carol didn't seem to notice or care about his reaction and just started eating on her own.

She never wasted food and believed in finishing every meal. She dug in and polished off her plate in no time. By the time she looked up, she noticed just how refined Ethan looked while eating-moving slowly, gracefully, not making a single sound. Everything about him screamed meticulous elegance.

She couldn't help but clear her throat awkwardly and sat up straighter.

Ethan glanced at her and said flatly, "Trying to act proper now? Don't you think it's a bit late?"

Carol wasn't embarrassed at all. She grinned and replied casually, "You don't get it-gotta look a little put-together in front of someone I like. Who knows, maybe if I fake it long enough, you'll end up falling for me."

Ethan's eyebrows twitched. Her bluntness caught him off guard, and he set down his fork.

Carol blinked at his barely-touched plate. "That's all you're eating? You're done already?"

Ethan shot her a look and said, with a hidden meaning, "No appetite." Then stood up and headed upstairs to the study without another word.

Carol looked at the half-finished plate of chicken she'd gone out of her way to ginger-proof.

She muttered under her breath, "...Seriously?"

What a prideful guy.

Just then, Jack came back from his call. His eyes landed on Ethan's plate-and stopped.

The slice of roasted chicken was clearly touched. A bite or two gone.

Jack blinked, almost double-checking.

He remembered every single time Ethan turned up his nose at anything with ginger.

"Too harsh," he'd say. "Gets in the way of the actual flavor."

And now?

Carol caught his look and smiled. "All done with your call? Want to eat something with me?"

Jack quickly put on his usual blank expression and declined politely, "No thank you, Mrs. Mitchell."

"Pfft-"

Carol had just taken a sip of water and almost spit it out, coughing a bit after choking on it. She waved her hand awkwardly. "Whoa, first time I've heard someone call me 'Mrs. Mitchell,' not used to it at all."

Jack stayed stone-faced, tone neutral. "You'll get used to it, ma'am."

Carol just chuckled and started tidying up the table. Jack, standing off to the side, reminded her, "Mr. Mitchell doesn't eat leftovers."

So picky...

Carol rolled her eyes inwardly but smiled on the outside. "Relax. I'm keeping it for the stray cats and dogs, not for him."

Seriously, guy doesn't cook and still complains? Just be glad there's food at all.

Jack watched her move efficiently and hesitated for a second before speaking. "Ma'am, there's something I still don't quite understand. Mind if I ask?"

Carol, without looking up, kept tidying and replied casually, "You wanna know why I agreed to marry someone who's basically one foot in the grave, right?"

That bluntness almost bordered on rude, and Jack instinctively glanced upstairs, displeasure flickering in his eyes.

Carol straightened up, meeting his gaze with calm eyes. "I already said-it's to repay a favor. If it were for money-"

She pointed at her own striking face with a smirk. "Come on, with this level of beauty, you think I couldn't land myself in any rich guy's bed in Riverton? Why would I stick around a man who might, well, drop dead at any minute?"

Jack couldn't help casting a couple more glances her way.

The evening sun poured through the window, spilling soft light over Carol. Her skin was porcelain fair, her features delicate-yeah, she did have that unforgettable kind of charm.

Honestly, she wasn't totally exaggerating.

But still, looking at all the rich men in Riverton, who could beat the Mitchell family in wealth?

Then Jack remembered that document Carol had signed-waiving all rights to marital assets. She'd walked away from every possible benefit this marriage could bring her.

So what was she really after?

None of it made sense. Jack set the thought aside, offered a polite nod, and stepped out quietly.

At the stairwell, Ethan frowned slightly, his gaze falling away from the figure in the dining room below.

Repaying a favor?

Only kids would fall for that kind of fairy tale.

He'd already had Jack dig into their past-there was nothing. No connection, no life-saving heroics. Nothing.

...

Carol hated doing dishes, so she didn't bother. Anyway, the cleaner came by regularly. She married into this house to be a lady of leisure, not Ethan's personal maid.

With nothing else to do, she went back to her room, pulled out her drawing tablet, and got to work on a design project.

She was technically on leave, but the grind never stopped.

That upcoming bid deadline in two weeks? All riding on this proposal.

In the middle of sketching, her phone lit up with a flood of messages from Sophia.

[Babe!! How's it going? That scary demon man treating you okay?]

[Are you alive?? Say something or I'm calling the cops!!]

[*buff guy smile meme* Here, feast your eyes! Recharge with hotness!]

Carol let out a laugh and typed back:

[Alive and kicking. The villa's pretty nice. I cooked. He ate it. So far, so good.]

Sophia responded in a flash:

[!!! He actually ate your cooking?? Wasn't he supposed to be all twisted and cold-blooded? What happened to scaring off every poor blind date?? Carol, you're acting weird. He's acting even weirder!]

Carol: [I'm 87% sure he's been body-snatched. Or maybe I'm dreaming.]

Sophia: [Now that's more like it.]

They bantered a bit more before Carol finally put her phone down and returned to her drawing.

She was used to pulling all-nighters for work. By the time she looked up again, it was already late.

Stretching with a yawn, she climbed into bed, ready to knock out-when a faint cough cut through the silence from the room next door. It didn't stop, just kept going-soft, rasping, shaking, like someone was really trying to hold it in but couldn't.

One cough. Another. Like something caught deep in the throat, dragging itself out with painful persistence, ripping through quiet air.

Carol froze, eyes wide open.

Ethan.

She held her breath, straining to listen.

The coughing didn't let up. It was getting worse, more urgent.

She thought back to dinner earlier-how his face had that odd flush against an otherwise sickly pallor, his occasional gesture toward his chest.

"I'm not cleaning up your mess," he'd said coldly, sparing no kindness.

He'd made it clear he didn't want her around, didn't want her in his space.

The smart move now would be to pretend she heard nothing. Just go to sleep.

This was Ethan-he had doctors on speed dial, a world-class medical team. If anything serious happened, he'd press a button, and Jack or some surgeon would show up instantly. Didn't concern her, really.

Right. Pretend nothing happened.

Carol turned over and pulled the blanket over her head.

But the coughing-grating and unrelenting-clawed at her ears, hooked into her gut.

She remembered his pale, almost colorless hands, remembered how he sat back in that lounge chair earlier, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, making him look fragile and distant, like something breakable behind glass.

"Ugh." With a grumble, Carol pushed herself up and ruffled her hair in frustration.

She slid on her slippers, quietly got out of bed, and padded toward the door.