"Who was it?" Sidney thought he didn't seem like the type to get sentimental about the past, so she was suddenly very curious.
He didn't answer, still keeping his eyes closed. Sidney watched him for a while, then lost interest and looked out the window. Soon, they arrived at the house. The bodyguard helped the intoxicated Jayson to his bedroom. Sidney took off his shoes and socks, unbuttoned his shirt, and brought a towel to wipe his face and hands before covering him with a blanket. Sidney quietly went downstairs again to pour a glass of water, placing it gently on the bedside table, just in case Jayson woke up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty. Once she was sure everything was in place, she went to freshen up herself.
Jayson lay there for a while, his thoughts drifting lazily. As the light from the window hit him, he slowly blinked open his eyes, squinting against the brightness. His head still throbbed from the alcohol, but the worst of the hangover was gone. He felt dry, his mouth parched. Without thinking, he sat up, then paused when his gaze fell on Sidney, curled up at the edge of the bed, fast asleep. He almost reached out to shake her awake, annoyed at the light still shining in the room. But as he saw her, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath, a strange hesitation washed over him. She looked so peaceful, almost fragile. He didn't have the heart to disturb her.
Instead, he turned his attention to the water glass on the bedside table. Grabbing it, he drank deeply, surprised by the subtle taste of honey in the water. Sidney had left this for him. His mind lingered on the thought. Over the past few weeks, he'd started to notice things about her—how she'd leave him tea in the morning, make sure he ate, even when she was exhausted herself. Little things that made him realize how different she was from the other women he knew. His father had chosen her for him—someone with a similar, calm demeanor to his mother's. The idea was simple: someone who would support him through the struggles of his career, and offer him a place of refuge when he needed it most. But it was clear now that Sidney was more than just an obligation to fulfill. She was a woman who took care of him without asking for anything in return.
Finishing the water, he put the glass down and glanced back at her. Sidney was curled up so tightly in the corner of the bed, almost like a little ball. Something about the way she was huddled reminded him of a small animal, like the cat he'd had as a child. Amused, he reached over and gently poked her cheek, his finger brushing against her skin. It was soft, flawless, like snow. Her skin had this smooth, almost ethereal quality, and the faint mole near her ear added to her unique beauty. Her features were sharp but delicate, with strong brows and full lips, giving her face a mixture of elegance and strength. Jayson found himself wondering what had led her to marry him. She was beautiful, confident, surely she had plenty of other options. What made her choose to marry a man she barely knew?
Was it for the money?
But no... she didn't seem like the type of woman who was driven by that. There was something about her that didn't match his usual assumptions.
As if she could sense his gaze, Sidney furrowed her brow, her eyes fluttering open briefly. Jayson froze, his hand suspended in the air, unsure whether she was awake or just dreaming. He held still, watching her closely.
For a long moment, the room seemed to pause, like time had stopped altogether.
Sidney blinked again, but she didn't really seem to see him. Instead, her eyes wandered unfocused, and she curled further into herself, almost as though trying to disappear under the covers.
Jayson felt a sudden pang in his chest, a strange mixture of sadness and tenderness that he couldn't quite explain. Without thinking, he gently shifted her, pulling her into a more comfortable position on the pillows, covering her with the blanket.
She immediately curled up again, murmuring softly in her sleep. Her words were broken and jumbled, impossible to make sense of. Jayson leaned closer, trying to catch a few words, but it was no use.
She was speaking in a mix of muffled whispers, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, almost like she was in another world entirely. He wondered how much of this she was even aware of—how often did she wake up from nightmares or speak in her sleep like this?
What was going on with her?
Maybe they should have a serious conversation soon. There were things he needed to understand—about her past, about the way she carried herself.
He gently brushed her hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering on her soft strands. In that moment, he realized something. She wasn't as bad as he had originally thought. In fact, she was kind of endearing in her own way.
