CEO's Girl Chapter 4

The fortress of glass and steel had rarely felt so cold. Edward walked into the penthouse that evening, a simmering anger in his every step. The day had been a disaster. A crucial deal had fallen through, a competitor had outmaneuvered him, and his carefully constructed plans were in ruins. He didn't just feel defeated; he felt exposed. The world had seen a crack in his armor, and the rage that followed was a storm he brought home with him.

He found Elizabeth in the kitchen, sitting on a stool, her shoulders hunched. A steaming mug was in her hands, and she looked utterly drained, her face pale and drawn. The sight of her, so fragile, only fueled his frustration. He wanted the world to be as sharp and perfect as he was, and her quiet vulnerability was a contradiction he couldn't stand.

"What's this mess?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. He gestured toward a few misplaced coffee pods on the counter, a minor oversight that seemed, in his current state, like an act of deliberate sabotage.

Elizabeth jumped, spilling a few drops of liquid on the counter. "I'm sorry. I was just... I'll clean it." Her voice was soft, laced with a pain he was too angry to recognize.

"Don't you ever just put things where they belong?" he continued, his voice rising, the stress of the day spilling out. "It’s not difficult. This is what happens when you don't pay attention. You create a mess for someone else to deal with." His words were aimed at the coffee pods, but they carried the weight of his entire day's frustration, and they hit her with brutal force.

Elizabeth simply stared at the counter, her shoulders shaking with a silent tremor. She didn't argue. She didn't defend herself. She just stood there, so small and defeated, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. That was when Edward's anger began to falter. The easy annoyance he felt toward her was replaced by a cold, hard knot of shame. He hadn't seen her cry before. Not like this. This wasn't the polite sadness of a rejected gesture; it was raw, unadorned pain.

He was about to apologize, to back away from the damage he'd just inflicted, when she winced, her hand clutching her stomach. She slid off the stool, her knees buckling slightly, and had to brace herself against the counter. Her knuckles were white, and her breath came in short, painful gasps. Her eyes, squeezed shut, held a silent torment.

Edward's mind went from a storm to a dead calm. He looked down at the mug on the counter and saw it was not coffee, but chamomile tea, and beside it, a half-empty bottle of pain relievers. He saw the way she was holding herself, the small, pained moan that escaped her lips. His cold mind, so good at connecting dots, finally pieced it together. He saw the pale face, the hunched shoulders, the sudden lurch of pain.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice now a mere whisper. He moved to her, his harsh façade crumbling away. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she breathed, but a fresh wave of cramps made her double over.

Edward gently took her arm, his touch uncharacteristically soft. He led her to the couch and carefully helped her lie down. He found a soft blanket and draped it over her, then went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water and the pain reliever. He didn't speak. He simply handed her the pills and the water. As she swallowed them, he sat beside her on the floor, his head bowed.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words alien on his tongue. He had never apologized to anyone in his life, let alone her. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I… I didn't realize." He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, she saw raw vulnerability in them. "I was an idiot. My day was bad, and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that."

He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. He could feel her pain, not as an inconvenience, but as something real, something he had made worse. He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers. His touch was hesitant at first, then firm, a silent promise.

"You are so strong, Elizabeth," he said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "You handle everything with such grace, even when you're... in pain. I never saw that before." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his gaze never leaving her face. The kiss was gentle, a solemn tribute to her silent strength. It wasn't the drunken, reckless kiss from the night before; this one was a quiet, sober admission of a deeper truth. He didn’t want to be alone in his fortress anymore. He wanted her there with him, not as a ghost, but as a person he could protect, and perhaps, even love.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***