Chapter 59
Mouthing the name, Alaric’s gaze instinctively shifted towards Galatea. Immersed in her book, she remained unaware of his watchful eyes. All I know about Galatea’s late husband is that his name was Ambrose.
Ambrose? It must be a coincidence, Alaric mused, gently teasing himself as he chuckled at his initial tension upon seeing the name. It seemed like his mind was playing tricks.
Alaric had diligently reviewed the profiles of the six companies, and surprisingly, Far East International did indeed appear competitive. Gavin’s personal involvement as the director demonstrated a high level of sincerity. Alaric set the papers down, glancing at the clock, realizing it was already past eleven at night. He stood up and approached the bed, gently taking the book from Galatea’s hands.
“It’s late. Time to get some rest,” Alaric said softly.
Galatea, deeply absorbed in her book, hadn’t noticed how late it was, and she nodded reluctantly, aware of how tired she was. Before she could respond, Alaric carefully helped her lie down and tucked her in with the blanket.
They were in a VIP hospital suite with a caregiver’s bed for Alaric, separated by a curtain. Their nightly routine usually consisted of drawing the curtain and settling into their respective beds—tonight was no different. Normally, Galatea would fall asleep easily, but tonight was different. She wasn’t feeling sleepy.
She turned to look at the curtain, illuminated by the soft light. She could see Alaric’s silhouette as he changed his shirt, the outline of his muscular chest casting shadows on the fabric.
As she watched him, her mind drifted back to a night long ago when Ambrose had stood by the bed, removing his shirt in a similar manner.
It had been in a hotel room where she had made the bold decision to give herself to him for the first time.
“Stellan, are you really sure about this?” Ambrose had asked nervously.
“Yes, I’ve thought it through. Dad will agree, and the worst he can do is ground me. Let’s do this!”
Her heart had raced, and she had clutched the sheets, closing her eyes as nerves took hold for the first time. That’s when her phone had suddenly rung. It was her father.
“Stellan, are you at the Silver Star Hotel right now? Are you with Ambrose?”
“No, it’s just me!”
“If I find out that punk Ambrose is there, believe me, I’ll fire him, and you’ll never see him again!” her father had threatened.
“There’s really nobody here, I’m heading home now.”
That evening’s plan had failed. From that night on, her father had kept an even closer watch on her, making things difficult for Ambrose at every turn. To win her father’s approval, Ambrose had worked tirelessly. In just four years, he became vice president and her father’s right-hand man.
Ambrose had worked so hard to earn her father’s approval.
Suddenly, the curtain was abruptly pulled open, snapping Galatea back to reality. She looked up to find Alaric standing there in nothing but his boxers. Before she could react, Alaric’s voice hovered over her.
“Why are you spying on me?”
Spying? Galatea blinked, momentarily stunned.
“I wasn’t—” she blurted, but Alaric was already leaning over her, his hands propped beside her pillow, his body pressing down so close that it stole her breath away.
“Fantasizing lewd thoughts while watching me undress, are we?” he teased with a smirk.
“Alaric, you truly are delusional!” Galatea snapped back, though her mind involuntarily drifted to her ex-boyfriend. If she told Alaric the truth, he’d probably strangle her in anger. “Lusting after my physique?”
“What?” Alaric said with a smirk. “Don’t deny it. Your body never lies.”
Galatea fell silent, unsure how to respond.
“Mr. Knight, I’m lying here in a hospital bed, weak,” she lamented with genuine frustration.
Alaric cracked a sly smile. “You know what’s on your mind.”
With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving her to breathe deeply again. It was only then that Galatea noticed Alaric had settled onto the adjacent care bed.
“Aren’t you going to pull the curtain?” she asked, still feeling unsettled by the exchange.
“We’re not sharing the same bed, so why bother? From now on, the curtains stay open.” Alaric’s voice was casual as he closed his eyes.
“Jerk,” Galatea muttered under her breath, feeling frustrated with her helplessness.
Though Alaric appeared to be asleep, Galatea couldn’t rest. She opened her eyes, glancing at him on the care bed. He usually fell asleep after her and woke before her, so she’d never seen him asleep until now. He seems rather peaceful, she mused silently. He doesn’t even snore and falls asleep so easily. Is his insomnia real?
Despite the high-end VIP hospital room, it didn’t quite compare to the comforts of home. Yet, aside from her unconscious days, Alaric seemed to sleep soundly.
It was late when Galatea finally dozed off, and she woke later than usual the next morning, feeling the doctor’s needle.
“Awake?” Alaric’s voice drifted over to her.
Galatea responded lightly, still groggy from her deep sleep. After the doctor left, Alaric gently wiped her face and hands with a warm towel, helping her rinse her mouth before handing her breakfast. “Woke up late today,” he noted. It was already 9:30 a.m.
“A good sleep is valuable,” she replied, stretching slightly.
Galatea’s sleep quality was something Alaric envied. Like that other time in the car—she was out cold.
Before Galatea had awakened, Alaric had reviewed the files for the six companies again. Judging by their overall strength and bids, Far East International seemed to have a great chance of winning the contract. Ambrose? The name made Alaric’s unease resurface.
As Galatea finished her meal, Alaric asked, “So, I only know your kids by the nicknames Harry and Elisa. What are their full names?”
“Rook Storm, Atlas Storm,” Galatea replied honestly.
“Their last name is Storm?” Alaric asked, deducing that it must be from their father’s side. “So, your late husband was Alistair Storm?”
Alistair Storm?
Galatea paused, then grasped Alaric’s line of thought, deciding to play along. “Yes, his name was Alistair Storm. You’re quite smart, Mr. Knight,” she said with a smile.
Alistair Storm? The name rolled off her tongue, but Alaric couldn’t help the slight smile that curled at the corner of his lips. Why did the name Ambrose unsettle me so much?