Chapter 159: Do You Have A Fever?

The meeting room is dim. The big screen glows at the front of the room, casting pale blue light across the faces of the executives and illuminating the intricate plans of Roselle Holdings’ newest project—a venture that should have consumed my attention, that should have demanded every fragment of my focus.

Instead, I sit at the head of the table, my glasses resting loosely on the bridge of my nose, my fingers absently tapping the open file before me. The words on the page blur into meaningless shapes.

A staff member stands at the front, his voice steady and practiced as he walks through the presentation. He points at graphs, gestures toward timelines, speaks of projections and profit margins. His voice is a distant hum, like a radio playing in another room. I hear the words, but they don’t land. They slide off the surface of my mind like water over stone.

My mind is somewhere else entirely.

What kind of herb did he put in that soup?

The thought rises unbidden, curling through my consciousness like smoke from a dying fire.

I slept deeply last night. Deeper than I have in weeks. No tossing. No waking. And today—no nausea. No morning sickness. No heaviness pressing against my chest.

I blink slowly, my fingers stilling against the page.

This morning, his warmth against me was overwhelming. Too hot. Almost feverish. Sometimes his body feels cold—like he’s carrying something hollow inside him. Other times, he burns as though he’s holding a fire in his chest.

Is he sick today?

The thought slips in before I can stop it.

I shake my head sharply, trying to throw it away. My fist tightens around the file, the paper crumpling beneath my fingers, the sound surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

Why am I even thinking about him? That shameless, insufferable, lying—

I cut the thought off before it can finish and force my attention back to the glowing screen.

Focus, Ellis. You’re in a meeting.

But the silence in the room pulls at me. The stillness is too loud.

I blink.

Suddenly, I become aware of the weight of every gaze fixed on me—the expectant silence, the uneasy waiting.

I straighten, my voice cutting through the room, calm and steady, betraying nothing.

"What happened?"

The team manager clears his throat, his voice careful and measured, like someone walking across thin ice.

"Sir... is there something wrong with the presentation?"

His gaze drops briefly to my hand, to the crumpled paper beneath it. I follow his eyes, then slowly uncurl my fingers, smoothing the creases as though I can erase the evidence of my distraction.

Ian leans closer from the seat beside me, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

"Sir... are you alright?"

I push my chair back and stand. The scrape cuts through the silence like a blade. Around the table, everyone rises with me—a ripple of practiced movement that only makes the room feel quieter.

"That’s enough for now." My voice remains even, revealing nothing. "Ian, send the details to my office."

He nods immediately.

"Yes, sir."

I walk out. My steps are measured, unhurried—a careful performance of composure. But the moment the door clicks shut behind me, my fingers rise to my temple, rubbing lightly at the dull ache gathering there.

What am I even doing?

I don’t remember a single thing from that presentation.

Not one word. Not one number.

Ian follows, his steps quick, keeping a careful distance behind me—close enough to speak, far enough not to intrude.

"Sir, Mr. Silas has been waiting for you for over two hours. As you instructed, I told the staff to inform him that you had gone out."

I don’t answer. I keep walking.

He hesitates before speaking again. "And, sir... Mr. Chairman—"

"I’ll visit them tonight."

Ian’s steps falter for just a moment before he quickly recovers. Even without looking back, I can sense the relief in the way his shoulders relax.

"Yes, sir. I’ll inform them."

I step into my office, the door closing behind me with a soft, final click, sealing me away from the outside world. I shrug off my coat and drape it over the back of the couch before lowering myself onto the cushions. A tired sigh escapes me, heavier than I expected, carrying the weight of exhaustion I hadn’t realized had settled into my bones.

I feel drained.

All I did was sit through a meeting, yet my body feels as though I’ve been carrying something far too heavy for far too long.

My stomach growls—soft, insistent, impossible to ignore. I press a hand over it, my voice barely above a whisper in the empty office.

"I’m hungry..."

A pause.

"But I don’t want to eat anything. Except that soup. That warm, smooth, perfect soup..."

A voice drifts through the quiet, low and dangerously close to my ear.

"Really? Did you like it that much?"

I nod before I can stop myself, the answer slipping out like an unguarded confession.

"Yeah... that was amazing."

I freeze. My eyes widen. I turn sharply, my heart lurching against my ribs.

Silas stands behind me, a paper bag dangling from one hand, a bouquet of soft pink and white flowers in the other. A teasing smile rests on his lips, warm and knowing, as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"Hello."

I just stare at him.

My mind stumbles over a dozen questions at once, each one tripping over the next.

When did he get here? How long has he been standing there? Did he hear everything I just said?

Heat crawls up my neck, spreading across my cheeks.

Ian... you’re dead.

Silas walks past me, setting the bag and the bouquet on the table with casual ease. Then he sits beside me—too close. Even before he settles, the warmth radiating from his body reaches me, pressing gently against my skin. His shoulder brushes mine, his presence filling the space around me.

"Did you miss me?"

I shift away, reclaiming the distance between us.

"Who would miss you?"

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a container. The moment he lifts the lid, the familiar aroma of the soup drifts toward me—warm, rich, impossible to ignore.

My mouth waters before I can stop it. I cross my arms and deliberately look away.

Ellis. Control yourself.

You are not accepting that soup.

No matter how good it smells.

He opens the lid fully, and the aroma grows stronger, filling the office with its comforting warmth.

I swallow hard.

He holds it out to me.

"Here. Have some."

I glance at him, my voice sharp, cutting through the warmth beginning to settle around me.

"Do you really think I’m foolish enough to fall for your tricks again?"

"No." His voice is soft, steady, certain. "I didn’t add the herb this time. I swear."

I look away, my jaw tightening.

"No."

"Please." His voice softens, almost pleading. "I didn’t add anything. I know you’re hungry. Eat."

"I don’t believe you."

Without another word, he scoops up a spoonful and eats it himself, his eyes never leaving mine. He swallows before holding up the empty spoon.

"See? I ate it. Do you believe me now?"

Silence settles between us, thick with the scent of the soup and the sound of my own breathing.

Slowly. Reluctantly. My hand reaches out and takes the container from him.

A small smile finds its way onto his lips.

"It’s hot. Be careful."

I stir the soup gently before lifting a spoonful. After blowing on it, I take a careful bite.

Warmth spreads through my mouth, down my throat, settling deep in my chest. It tastes like comfort. Like home I never knew I was missing.

Silas shifts a little closer. His thumb brushes the corner of my lip, wiping away a stray drop of soup. The touch is light, fleeting... but the warmth lingers.

"Eat slowly. We have all the time in the world."

His skin is burning.

The heat radiating from him is impossible to ignore, wrapping around me like an invisible fire.

I look at him, my voice quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness.

"Do you have a fever?"

He goes still for just a moment, a flicker of something crossing his face before it disappears. Then he shakes his head.

"No. Why?"

"Then why are you burning like this?"

"It’s just my normal temperature."

"Another lie."

His gaze drops. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes hazy and unfocused, as though he’s trying to hide something from me.

"It’s nothing." His voice is quiet. "It’ll settle down soon."

A small, reassuring smile touches his lips. "Please... finish your meal."

I stare at him for a long moment. Then I set the container down and stand.

"Let’s go."

His head lifts, surprise flashing across his face. His lips part as if to ask where, but no words come.

I catch his wrist and pull him to his feet.

"Stand up already."

He rises without a word, offering no resistance. I keep hold of his hand and start walking, leading him toward the door.

My steps are quick.

My heart is strangely uncertain.