The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss-Chapter 96: Stitches

A soft knock at the terrace door interrupted them. A staff member handed Julian a small, discreet paper bag. Julian thanked him and turned back to Amara, who was watching him with wide, worried eyes.

"What’s in the bag?" she asked, her voice tight. "Julian, are you sick? Why are you getting medicine?"

He walked over to her, his expression softening into something incredibly tender. "It’s not for me, Amara. I know I was... a lot for you. I noticed you flinching when you thought I wasn’t looking." He pulled a small tube of ointment and a pack of relievers from the bag. "I heard this is good for the swelling and the pain. Come on, I’ll apply it."

Amara’s eyes went wide. "Wait...no! It’s fine, really. I mean... I can do it myself," she whispered, her voice failing her as she looked at the floor.

"Are you shy now?" Julian teased, a playful glint in his eye. "I’m your husband. There isn’t an inch of you I don’t know after last night."

"Julian, but..."

"No buts." Before she could protest further, he hooked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her effortlessly.

He carried her back into the suite, bypassed the bed, and cleared a space on the heavy oak desk near the window. He set her down on the edge, his hands firm on her thighs.

"It doesn’t hurt, Julian," she lied, her voice trembling slightly.

"Liar," he countered softly.

He reached for the hem of her skirt, his fingers steady as he began to lift the fabric. As his hand brushed against her inner thigh, even before he reached the source of her discomfort, Amara flinched instinctively, her breath catching.

Julian froze. His face went pale, his playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. He knelt between her knees, looking at the irritation with a focused, worried frown.

"Amara, this is..." He looked up at her, his eyes full of genuine panic. "It’s worse than I thought. We should go to the hospital. You might need stitches. I was too...I shouldn’t have—"

Amara placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. Despite the sting, she felt a surge of affection for the man who was currently terrified of his own strength.

"Julian, stop," she said, her voice firm despite her blush. "Look at me. I’m not fragile, remember? I told you not to hold back, and I meant it. It’s just... a little bit of the forever we promised. No hospitals. Just... maybe be a little more careful with that ointment."

Julian didn’t look convinced. He remained kneeling between her knees, the small tube of ointment held in his hand like it was a delicate surgical instrument.

The sight of him... this powerful, commanding man looking genuinely rattled by a bit of friction and a flush of skin made Amara’s heart ache in a completely different way.

"Stitches, Julian? Really?" she teased, her voice soft as she brushed a stray dark lock of hair from his forehead. "You’re overreacting. It’s just... the price of a very enthusiastic sweet night."

He let out a breath he’d been holding, a huff of self-reproach. "I don’t like the idea of being the cause of your pain, Amara. Even enthusiastic pain."

He turned his attention back to the task, his movements becoming incredibly precise. He squeezed a small amount of the cool cream onto his fingertips.

When he finally applied it, his touch was feather-light, barely more than a whisper of air against her sensitized skin. The cooling sensation was an instant relief, chasing away the sharp sting.

Amara gripped the edge of the oak desk, her knuckles turning white. It wasn’t pain now; it was the sheer intimacy of the moment. The sunlight was streaming in behind her, silhouetting Julian as he worked with a devotion that felt almost liturgical.

"There," he whispered, his voice low and thick. He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he rested his forehead against her knee, his hands lingering on her thighs. "I’ll be more careful. I promise."

Amara looked down at the top of his head, feeling a surge of thumb-twiddling shyness mixed with a sudden, bold desire. "You don’t have to be too careful, Julian. I liked the version of you from this morning. The one who wasn’t afraid."

He looked up at her, a slow, dangerous smirk finally returning to his face, though his eyes remained soft. "Is that so? You’re a dangerous woman, Mrs. Vale. Pushing me like that when you can barely sit on a desk."

He helped her down, his arm firmly around her waist to steady her. The rest of the afternoon was a blur of quiet comfort. They stayed in the suite, the outside world of the city feeling a million miles away.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the room in deep violets and oranges, Julian had arranged a private dinner on the small dining table. No gala music, no heavy wine, just the sound of the evening breeze and the clink of silverware.

"To us," Julian said, raising a glass of sparkling water with a wink. "And to the fact that I am officially retired from the medical profession. I think I’ll stick to being your husband."

Amara laughed, her blush finally fading into a warm, contented glow. The swelling was already forgotten, replaced by the steady, rhythmic peace of being exactly where she belonged.

The lamp on the bedside table was turned down to a low, amber glow, casting long shadows across the heavy linens. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the distant, muffled pulse of the city below.

Julian had his arm hooked beneath her, pulling her back against his chest so there wasn’t a breath of space between them.

His skin was cool now, smelling of the cedar soap from the bath and the faint, medicinal scent of the ointment he’d applied with such panicked devotion earlier.

Amara felt the heavy weight of his hand resting over her ribs, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle over her skin.

"You’re still awake," he murmured, his voice a vibration she felt more than heard against her shoulder blade.

She shifted slightly, the soft friction of the sheets a gentle reminder of the day. "Just thinking," she whispered.

Julian tightened his grip, his nose brushing against the shell of her ear. "About the hospital? Because I’ve already looked up the nearest one, just in case you change your mind about those stitches."