Forgotten Love: Mr. President, Mrs. Fordham Has Rejected You!-Chapter 224: I Hope You Can Satisfy Me, Too

Stella Grant made up an excuse with Mrs. Sterling and then left first.

Aiden Fordham was burning with a fever, and she couldn’t pretend not to see it. But since he insisted on not going to the hospital, she called a cab and took him straight to Imperial View Unit One.

As soon as she opened the door, a fresh yet familiar scent rushed toward her.

It seemed he had been living here all this time.

She struggled to lift his tall body onto the bed, but he began to act mischievously, extending his long arm to encircle her in his embrace, refusing to let go.

"Aiden Fordham, let go."

"Stella, I’m dizzy, let me hold you for a while." He mumbled with his eyes closed, his brows furrowed, burning hot to the touch.

Stella slowly pried his hands off her, thankful she had called Keegan Lindsey earlier; he’d be there in half an hour.

She looked at his chapped lips and gently patted his arm, "I’ll get you a glass of water."

He didn’t respond.

She went and got a glass of warm water, then carefully lifted his upper body and brought the cup to his lips, "Drink some water."

He cooperated, slowly taking a few sips.

"Hungry?" she asked softly.

He opened his eyes and nodded.

"I’ll cook you something later," she said gently, "but for now, please cooperate, okay?"

She found the medicine box’s alcohol and cotton balls, wrung out a hot towel, and began to cool him down.

First, she wiped his hands, his fingers long and defined, his palm hot to the touch.

Then, his ankles. Finally, she unbuttoned his shirt, preparing to wipe his chest.

His firm chest was exposed to the air, gently rising and falling in sync with his breath, and suddenly, she saw that tattoo with familiar bold letters catching her eyes off-guard.

—Stella Grant

Her heart was sharply pierced with pain.

It was a memory belonging to them, now turned into a thorn between them.

She no longer wished to recall the Mardale days.

If it was truly etched in bone, how could it later turn to deep scars?

Suppressing the discomfort in her heart, she gently continued wiping him, his large hand suddenly clasping her small one.

He spoke hoarsely, "Stella, don’t leave me."

She quickly broke free from his grasp, dropping everything in her hand.

"Rest for a while."

Before she finished speaking, she fled the room like she was escaping.

Behind her, Aiden Fordham opened his eyes again, watching her fleeing figure with complex emotions flashing across his eyes.

He suddenly thought, how nice it would be to stay ill like this.

To keep her by his side always.

Stella raced into the kitchen and cooled down for a few seconds. Pulling open the fridge door, it was fully stocked—seemed he really had been staying here these days.

She took out a new bag of rice, rinsed it, added water, and started the fire.

She wanted to cook him some porridge.

Soon, the water in the pot started boiling, white rice swirling within.

She picked up a small spoon, standing by the pot, stirring slowly again and again.

Her thoughts wandered, uncontrollably drifting far away.

Three years ago, when they first married, he lived in this large flat.

But they lived separately; he didn’t allow her to touch his private space.

She lived in the Green Garden villa grandpa gifted, and only met when visiting the old home playing the roles of a loving couple.

Back then, his eyes couldn’t see, so she secretly pretended to be a new housekeeper caring for him, trying her best to help treat his eyes.

Later, his eyes finally healed.

He saw her.

What expression did he wear upon seeing his so-called wife?

Cold, unfamiliar, as if he felt nothing.

No, perhaps a slight repulsion and distaste.

For three months, they lived respectfully like "ice."

Until Grandpa’s birthday banquet.

That day, he drank heavily, getting seriously drunk.

Grandpa wasn’t at ease and called for them to be sent back to Imperial View Unit One.

In the living room, he sat leaning on the sofa, head thrown back, exposing his sexy Adam’s apple.

His tie had been rudely pulled off and casually tossed in a corner of the sofa.

She poured him a glass of honey water and approached.

"Honey water can help with alcohol, drink some."

He slowly opened his eyes, deep with unseen emotions.

Looking at this incomprehensibly beautiful woman, a peculiar heat welled within.

He didn’t take the cup, coldly speaking.

"Stella Grant, you schemed to marry me, for my money, or for me?"

She was startled, quickly shaking her head, hurriedly explaining, "I’m not after your money; the money Grandpa gave me, even the pocket money you send regularly, I haven’t touched a penny. I have my own source of income."

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, a dangerous hint in his gaze.

"Then, you’re after me, huh?"

This time, she didn’t argue.

Yes, she was after him, running after him for years.

He reached, taking the cup from her hand, steadily placing it on the coffee table.

Suddenly, with a tug.

She fell unguarded into his warm embrace.

Startled, she attempted to struggle out, they’d never been so intimately close.

But his mesmerizing voice rang in her ear.

"I can satisfy you."

"Hope you can satisfy me too."

Next moment, the world spun.

He carried her horizontally, striding to the bedroom.

Under faint lights, that night, he possessed her fiercely.

With the roughest method, she became wholly his woman, tearing her apart inch by inch, consuming even the scraps.

At dawn, waking in pain, she found the bed empty, no sign of him.

The following half month, he never appeared.

She remained perpetually uneasy, thinking perhaps her performance that night was too poor, failing to satisfy him, leading him to avoid her.

Until one day, his butler personally went to The Green Garden to pick her up, taking her to The Sovereign Estate.

There she saw a garden full of beautiful lilies and him.

Sitting on the sofa, lazy yet exuding detachment.

He told her Grandpa hoped they’d have a child soon.

Hence, each month she needed to come over twice to fulfill a wife’s duty.

Indeed, in the past half month, intending to erase her from his mind, he found himself increasingly wanting her, so he couldn’t help but bring her over.

They made an agreement: if after three years of marriage she hadn’t conceived, fate deemed they must part.

She hesitated only a moment, then agreed.

That day, he kept her at The Sovereign Estate, teasing her all day and night, thoroughly satisfied.

He deliberately avoided her physiological period, setting their shared days on the fifth and twenty-fifth of each month.

But those days fell during her safe period.

No chance of conceiving.

Until his business trip to Nation A, specially arranging for her to be brought along too.

In that foreign land, they stayed together for three days and nights.

He seemed to confer his lifetime’s energy, tirelessly engulfing every inch of her body, allowing her to experience unprecedented, extreme pleasure.

And because of that extended time they bumped into her ovulation period, she conceived.

Only later...couldn’t keep it.

Three-year term up, they lucidly began to part ways.

"Ding dong."

The doorbell rang, pulling her thoughts back.

Keegan Lindsey arrived.

A family doctor with a medicine kit followed closely behind him.

The two hurriedly made their way directly to the master bedroom.

Inside, there was the suppressed sound of a man’s cough and Keegan’s anxious whispers.

Stella Grant did not follow them in.

She turned to the kitchen, scooped the freshly cooked porridge into a white porcelain bowl, prepared a small side dish for him, and placed them both on the dining table.

Her actions were skillful and swift.

After finishing, she picked up her purse from the sofa, ready to leave.

Keegan happened to come out of the master bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

Seeing Stella’s actions, he became anxious.

"Madam, President Fordham just took his medicine and fell asleep. I’m worried that his condition might worsen tonight."

Keegan’s tone was filled with pleading.

"Could you please stay to take care of him?"

His words were polite yet distant.

Stella Grant interrupted him coldly, "Keegan, he’s no longer my responsibility."

She pointed to the dining table, "Have him drink the porridge later."

With that, she opened the door without looking back, leaving straight away.

"Bang."

The door was shut.

Keegan’s face instantly fell, looking worse than crying.

Almost simultaneously, the master bedroom door also opened.

Aiden Fordham came out in his pajamas, his broad shoulders and narrow waist still looked tall and strong despite the loose fabric, but his face was pale, his hair a bit messy, stripped of his usual nobility.

He looked at the already closed door.

Gone.

Keegan stood there, head lowered, filled with guilt.

"President Fordham, I’m sorry, I couldn’t make her stay."

Aiden Fordham said nothing, his gaze fell on the dining table.

A bowl of plain porridge, a small side dish.

The irritation in his chest from her departure suddenly eased.

"At least she was willing to send me home."

His voice was still hoarse from illness, yet it was lighthearted.

"She’s taken the first step. I won’t push her; I’ll give her time."

He didn’t blame Keegan at all, even a subtle curve appeared on his lips.

He walked to the dining table and sat down.

He reached out, picked up the spoon, and scooped some warm porridge into his mouth.

The warm taste spread across his taste buds, soothing his stomach, yet stinging his heart.

His eyes suddenly reddened.

How wonderful it would be to have her around!

...

In the private room of The Lyrewood Restaurant, Mrs. Sterling, having chatted quite a bit with Mrs. Lindsey, found this Second Young Master Lindsey to be rather charming and was somewhat satisfied.

Why hasn’t Claire returned yet?

She picked up her phone to call her daughter, only to spot Claire’s phone on the table.

The screen was quietly lit.

Mrs. Sterling’s heart skipped a beat, and she immediately panicked.

Where on earth has she gone?

Just then, her phone received a video from an unknown number.

Mrs. Sterling clicked it open, the blaring music in the video hurt her eardrums.

The screen shook, and at the center was the Second Young Master Lindsey, who had come for a blind date with her daughter today.

He held a cigarette loosely in his mouth, his eyes dazed, with a heavily made-up woman clinging to his left arm, while his right hand roved restlessly over another girl, spewing obscene words.

A real playboy caught in the act.

Mrs. Sterling’s blood pressure spiked instantly.

She coldly remarked to Mrs. Lindsey across from her,

"Mrs. Lindsey, your son is too much for our daughter to handle."

"Let’s not stay in contact in the future."

"What nonsense!"

She cursed angrily, quickly tidied up Claire’s belongings, and got up to leave.

At that moment, her phone rang again, it was Damian Hawthorne.

"Mrs. Sterling, I’m with Claire, she was insistent on seeing fish, so I brought her over, she’ll be home soon."

Mrs. Sterling was startled, fish?

Still holding onto her anger, she coldly replied, "She must be home by midnight."

Having said that, she hung up the call.

At Silvermere Plaza by the river, the lights were dazzling.

Damian Hawthorne, holding Claire’s hand, stopped beneath a colossal Ferris wheel.

Multicolored neon lights swirled in circles, appearing to be an enormous lollipop in Claire’s eyes.

Her eyes lit up, completely forgetting about the fish she intended to see.

Excitedly, she pointed her tiny hand at the Ferris wheel, then at herself, her eyes full of longing.

[I want to go up, may I?]

Damian, seeing the sparkle in her eyes, felt his heart melt, tenderly ruffled her small head.

"You can."

He led her hand, bypassed the long line, and went straight to the VIP lane.

Soon, they were seated in an exclusive cabin.

As the Ferris wheel gradually ascended, the city’s night view slowly unfolded beneath their feet, transforming into a brilliant river of stars.

Claire was extraordinarily excited, her little cheeks pressed against the glass, eyes wide, little hands continually drawing on the glass.

From behind, Damian gently wrapped his arms around her slender waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, watching her happy and excited expression, unable to suppress a smile.

He wished to present her with the world’s finest offerings.

The Ferris wheel reached its peak, the city below, as bright as daylight.

In that instant, a terrifying and chaotic scene exploded in Claire’s mind.

A girl, suspended by a rope at a hundred-meter height.

Below, were dense, sharp, gleaming iron spikes.

With a cold command, the rope was ruthlessly severed.

The girl plummeted like a kite with a broken string, about to be pierced through and through...

"Ah!"

Claire suddenly screamed, violently struggling in his embrace.

Damian, startled, thought she was afraid of heights, and quickly tightened his arms, holding her closer.

"Claire, don’t be afraid, I’m right here."

His voice was low and soothing, offering a calming presence.

But she seemed crazed, unable to hear him, her small hands frantically gestured.

[I want to get down! I want to get down! I don’t want to be here!]

He tried desperately to soothe her, yet she seemed on the verge of losing control.

Suddenly, she broke free from his arms, squatted down, her hands painfully clutching her hair, and with all her strength, let out a hoarse scream.

"Stop!"

The voice was not loud, yet crystal clear.

Suddenly, the entire world came to a halt.

Damian stared at her in astonishment.

She... she just spoke?

Did she yell "stop"?

When he came back to his senses, he realized the cabin was motionless, the entire Ferris wheel unexpectedly stopped.

They were trapped at the very top...