My Coldhearted Husband'S Regret novel Chapter 155

155 Fevered Haze and Familiar Tensions

155 Fevered Haze and Familiar Tensions

Guilt twisted inside Elara. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”

The door opened again. Damien returned, his eyes immediately noting her barely touched food.

A knock interrupted the moment. Dr. Bill entered, smiling when he saw Elara awake.

Damien rose in one fluid motion, pouring water from a pitcher on the nightstand. He helped her sit up slightly, supporting her back as she drank small sips.

“Thank you for checking on me,” Elara murmured, blinking slowly as her eyelids grew

heavy.

The thought of going to Damien’s family home sent a spike of anxiety through her, but she lacked the strength to argue. Clara and Eleanor exchanged worried glances as Cora hovered nearby, clutching her favorite stuffed animal.

The revelation that Damien had not only kept her book but was reading it made her feel strangely vulnerable. As if he had accessed a private part of her thoughts.

“I’ll be fine,” Elara protested weakly. “Just need rest.”

“The medication is working,” came a gentle voice. Dr. Bill Hawkins, the Thorne family physician for decades, stood beside the bed checking her pulse. “Your fever has dropped considerably.”

Amelia’s concerned face blurred before her eyes as Elara made her way to the bedroom. She barely managed to kick off her shoes before collapsing onto the bed, darkness claiming her instantly.

“Water,” she managed to rasp.

“Maybe I’ll lie down for a bit,” she said.

Bill raised an eyebrow. “You’re in his house, in serious condition. I’d say it was entirely

necessary.”

“…should have noticed sooner…”

Elara opened her eyes slowly, taking in the familiar ceiling. Damien’s childhood

155 Fevered Haze and Familiar Tensions

bedroom. She’d been here only once before, years ago when Eleanor had given her a tour of the manor.

Uncomfortable silence

After Bill left, filled the room. Elara’s stomach growled audibly, breaking the tension.

Amelia Vance bustled around Elara’s kitchen, stirring a pot of homemade chicken soup with focused determination. The rich aroma filled the apartment, but Elara could barely appreciate it from where she sat at the kitchen island, her head propped weakly on her hand.

“Someone needs to,” Amelia replied. “You work too hard and sleep too little.”

“Severe exhaustion combined with a nasty viral infection,” Bill explained. “Your immune system was too compromised to fight it off. You needed this collapse to force you to rest.”

“You’re awake,” he observed, closing the book. “How do you feel?”

Eleanor pressed a cool hand to Elara’s forehead. “Still burning up. We need to get her to a doctor.”

A long silence followed her statement. When she finally gathered the courage to look at him again, his expression was thoughtful, almost calculating.

“Nonsense,” Martha replied. “You focus on getting better.”

Damien stood to the side, his face impassive as Bill continued his examination. When the doctor finished, he patted Elara’s hand kindly.

“Forget the meeting,” Clara interrupted firmly. “You have a high fever, Elara. Your mother called us this morning when she couldn’t wake you.”

Inside the car, she leaned against the cool window, consciousness slipping in and out. Fragments of conversation floated around her.

the

The next time she awoke, the room was dimmer. Evening light filtered throu partially drawn curtains. Her fever had broken, leaving her sweaty and uncomfortable but clearer–headed.

Elara obediently took a spoonful. The warm liquid slid down her throat, momentarily

155 Fevered Haze and Familiar Tensions

soothing. She managed several more spoonfuls before a wave of exhaustion hit her

Minutes later, Martha arrived with a tray containing clear soup, toast, and tea. The older housekeeper clucked sympathetically.

“Much better,” he declared after examining her. “Your fever has broken, but you’re still extremely weak. Absolute rest for at least three days.”

Cool sheets. Soft pillow. The scent of sandalwood and old books.

Eleanor was already on her phone, issuing instructions. “The car will be ready in five

minutes. Grab her essentials.”

Elara tried to sit up but fell back, still dizzy. “Where is everyone?”

Elara didn’t need encouragement. Her eyelids were already growing heavy, pulling her back into darkness.

“You scared everyone,” Damien said, his expression unreadable. “Bill said your condition was worse than he initially thought.”

“You gave us quite a scare, Mrs. Thorne,” she said, setting the tray across Elara’s lap. “The little one has been asking about you non–stop.”

“Thank you,” Elara replied, her voice still rough.

“You need to eat something,” Amelia said, her voice laced with concern. “You’ve been looking pale for days.”

“Almost noon,” came Eleanor Thorne’s/voice as she entered the room, followed by Clara Bellweather. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly fifteen hours.”

“Better?” he asked when she finished.

A shadow crossed his face. “It had interesting ideas.”

“Having dinner with my grandmother and yours,” Damien replied. “She’s been worried about you.”

“I’ll have Martha bring up some food,” Damien said.

Damien followed her gaze. “I found it in the car after we returned,” he explained. “You

155 Fovered Haze and Familiar Tensions

left it behind.”

“Your daughter is with your grandmother in the garden. Eleanor is making calls. And Damien… Bill paused, checking his watch. “He should be arriving shortly. Eleanor called him.”

Amelia shot her a look that only mothers could perfect – equal parts skepticism and worry. “You’re not fine. Anyone can see that.”

Elara didn’t argue. Her head felt increasingly foggy. The spoon clattered against the bowl as her grip weakened.

“Of course she will,” Clara assured her, though her eyes reflected concern.

The direct question caught her off guard. “I… I’m surprised, that’s all.”

She processed this information slowly. “Cora?”

The soup was ladled into a bowl and set before her. Elara stared at it, her appetite nonexistent. Still, she picked up the spoon to appease her mother.

He moved to the bedside, looking down at the tray with a slight frown. “You need to eat to regain your strength.”

“I can’t stay here that long,” Elara protested.

He helped her take small sips of water before administering another dose of medication. “This will make you drowsy again. Don’t fight it. Sleep is your best

medicine right now.”

She managed a few spoonfuls of soup before setting the spoon down. Her hand trembled slightly from the effort.

And Damien had kept it all this time.

“What happened?” Elara asked, her voice scratchy and painful.

Through a feverish haze, Elara felt herself being helped into fresh clothes. The journey from bed to car passed in fragmented images – Cora’s worried face, the ele or’s descent, the cold air hitting her heated skin.

“…working herself to exhaustion…”

“Almost seven in the evening. You’ve been in and out for most of the day.”

155 Fovered Haze and Familiar Tensions

He sighed and turned toward the door, leaving Elara alone with his challenging observation hanging in the air between them.

“She’s awake!” Cora called over her shoulder, then approached the bed cautiously. “Mom, you’re really sick.”

“You kept it?” The question came out before she could stop it.

“Not really,” Elara admitted.

Elara tried to sit up but fell back, dizzy and weak. “What time is it?”

“Small sips,” Amelia instructed, watching her like a hawk.

“Even after all these years, you still don’t know how to fight back?” Damien finally said, something like disappointment coloring his tone.

Movement caught her attention. A figure sat in the armchair near the window,

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