Chapter 149

As the memories faded, I found myself staring blankly at Royce in front of me. I sighed and looked down.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"Have you ever thought that we can't be as naive as we used to be? Our identities and everything we've been through over the years make it hard for us to go back to the way things were or interact like we used to."

"So..."

I didn't finish my sentence, but Royce seemed to understand. He nodded slightly, his eyes darkening.

"I get it."

He then turned around, pushing the shopping cart as we left the supermarket. This time, he didn't hold my hand. I looked at my empty palm, feeling an inexplicable sense of loss.

We carried our groceries upstairs, and I headed into the kitchen to start cooking. Royce stood at the doorway, watching me silently for a moment before asking, "Need any help?"

I shook my head without saying a word.

After a while, I felt his gaze leave me. I turned around to see that he was no longer at the door. I sighed softly and began washing the ingredients.

There was a sadness I couldn't quite describe, and only by keeping busy could I forget it. Although I hadn't cooked in a long time, my hands moved skillfully, almost effortlessly.

After preparing several dishes, I called Royce to help me bring them to the table. He appeared quickly, looking at the food and genuinely complimenting, "Not bad, looks and smells great."

I chuckled lightly and glanced at him. "Finally, a good word from you."

After we set the table, he went to the wine cabinet and opened a bottle of red wine, pouring it into a decanter.

I was surprised. "Are you going to drink? I can't handle alcohol."

Royce shook his head. "It's fine, I'll drink. You can have a soft drink."

I had to admit, Royce exuded an air of elegance and nobility. Even the way he handled the food, with his long, graceful fingers, was refined. Watching him, I couldn't help but ask, "Is it good? I haven't cooked in years."

Royce thought for a moment and nodded seriously. "It's good, just as good as any restaurant."

Over the years, many people had praised my cooking, including Brandon. Even after I found out he had poisoned me, he subtly hinted that he wanted me to cook for him again. But I never did. Yet, Royce's compliment made me genuinely happy.

I didn't know why I felt this way.

"Then eat more."

I avoided his gaze and focused on eating, while Royce started drinking. He drank glass after glass, and before I knew it, the decanter was more than half empty.

I was startled and tried to stop him, but he shook his head.

"Why are you drinking so much?"

Royce calmly replied, "I just want to."

By the time we finished dinner, Royce had drunk quite a bit. His face was flushed, and his eyes were hazy with intoxication. He slumped on the couch, unmoving. After cleaning up the kitchen, I was about to leave when I saw him still sitting there.

I couldn't help but go over and gently pat his face. "Hey, you okay?"

Royce didn't move, clearly drunk. I thought about leaving him there, but then I worried he might catch a cold if he slept on the couch all night.

I decided to carry him to the bedroom, but Royce was a six-foot-tall man, lean but muscular. I couldn't lift him. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist and stand up, but he was dead weight, and I ended up falling into his arms, looking like I was hugging him.

I quickly got up, frustrated. "Why'd you drink so much? Now you're just causing trouble."

I draped his arm over my shoulder, trying to help him stand. But he was too heavy, and I had to wake him up. "Royce, wake up."

He opened his bleary eyes, his voice hoarse from the alcohol. "What is it?"

"You drank too much. Let's get you to bed."

Royce struggled to his feet, and I took the opportunity to support him, one arm around his waist and the other over my shoulder, slowly guiding him to the bedroom.

Just as I was about to drop him onto the bed, our clothes somehow got tangled, and I ended up falling on top of him.

Royce let out a muffled groan, clearly in pain. I scrambled to get up, but our clothes were still connected, making it look like I was flailing in his arms.

Royce finally couldn't take it anymore. He wrapped his arms around me, pressing me against his chest.

"Can you stop moving?"

I froze and quickly explained, "Our clothes are stuck. Help me untangle them."

But Royce fell asleep again, his breathing heavy, eyes closed. His long lashes fluttered slightly, as if he was sleeping uneasily.

I tried to untangle our clothes myself, but I couldn't reach the spot where they were connected. I had no choice but to give up.

At that moment, Royce turned on his side, pulling me into his arms. Our clothes came loose, but his arm was still heavy on me, holding me tightly.

After all the commotion, I was sweating and exhausted. My body hadn't fully recovered, and I had no strength left. I resigned myself to lying there, staring at the sleeping Royce.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

Royce didn't respond. His other hand unconsciously reached out, pulling the blanket over both of us.

I was increasingly convinced he was doing this on purpose, but there was nothing I could do. The warmth made my eyelids grow heavy.

I thought that if I woke up early, Royce wouldn't be holding me anymore, and I could slip away quietly.

So I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

What I didn't notice was that after I closed my eyes, Royce opened his slightly, glanced at me, and held me even tighter.