?Chapter 1224:
Ste’sshes fluttered. Just as his lips were about to meet hers, her body betrayed her before her mind could.
Her head tilted back—barely a fraction, but enough.
Enough to stop him.
For a moment, the world seemed to still.
The soft hum of voices around them faded into silence as her breath caught. Shock and confusion chased across her face, followed by a flush of guilt that crept up her neck. She opened her mouth, wanting to exin, but no sound came out.
She didn’t want to push him away. On the contrary, seeing Marc like this—his familiar tenderness, the memories of theirughter and love—filled her heart with a quiet ache. Yet her body refused to move closer, as if somewhere deep inside was holding her back.
Marc froze in ce. Disbelief flickered in his eyes, quickly doused by control and calction.
The faint tension in his jaw vanished as he forced a soft smile, smooth and effortless. He straightened, brushing the moment away as if it had never happened.
He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His voice was warm, teasing, perfectly gentle. “Too many people watching? Feeling shy?”
His calmness only deepened the guilt twisting in Ste’s chest. She nodded quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not used to so many people around… I’m sorry, Marc. I didn’t mean to—”
Marc’s hand found hers, his touch firm but reassuring. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “I was thoughtless. You must be tired. How about something sweet? The bakery at the end of the street still makes your favorite cake, remember?”
Her heart eased a little. He wasn’t angry. He was understanding—just like always.
Relieved, she smiled faintly and followed him down the street.
At the bakery door, he turned back with that same gentle smile.
“Wait here for me. It’s crowded inside—I’ll get it.”
I@?e$t ¢н@???я$ ?η ???и?vε??.c?m
She nodded, unaware of the shadow that passed briefly through his eyes.
Inside, Marc ordered the bagel with pistachio jam—her favorite since college. Then, without hesitation, he took a small packet from his pocket and quietly sprinkled its contents between theyers before wrapping it neatly again.
When he returned, he handed it to her himself. He stood there, watching her eat, his expression unreadable behind the warmth of his smile.
By evening, the air between them had softened again.
Marc prepared dinner himself—simple dishes she loved, cooked with care. Theirughter returned, light and easy, as though the awkward moment from earlier had never existed. He never mentioned the kiss that didn’t happen.
Later that night, the house glowed with quiet warmth.
Ste emerged from the bathroom, skin damp and fresh from her shower, her hair clinging softly to her shoulders. She paused—Marc stood by the doorway, his tall frame leaning casually against it, his dark hair still wet.
The cor of his pajamas hung open, exposing the firm lines of his chest. His gaze locked on her with a heat so intense it made her breath falter.
.
.
.