Chapter 143: Chapter 143: The Dangerous Warmth of Domesticity

The mental wall he had just rebuilt, brick by brick, mortar by mortar, fueled by the cold water and his memories of betrayal, began to tremble and crack in this brief moment of intimacy. It was as if there was a small, neglected child screaming inside Julian’s soul, a child who had been starved of affection for too long. That inner child was greedy. It wanted to ignore the danger, to burrow deep into this warmth, to surrender to this gentle care, and to pretend, just for a moment, that he was truly safe.

Ethan reached the bed and deposited Julian onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, ensuring he was seated comfortably. Then, instead of sitting beside him or returning to his previous spot, Ethan did something that made Julian’s breath hitch.

The imperious CEO of the Caldwell Empire, a man who held the fate of thousands in his hands, casually squatted down before him. Without a hint of hesitation, Ethan reached out and took hold of Julian’s icy feet.

Julian flinched reflexively, trying to pull back, but Ethan’s grip was firm. His large, calloused palms engulfed Julian’s cold soles, acting like a human furnace. He began to rub them, his thumbs kneading the arch of the foot, his fingers massaging the chilled skin with a practiced, rhythmic motion until the blood began to circulate and warmth returned.

The man’s actions were incredibly tender, devoid of any awkwardness or condescension. It was as if this act of servitude, this intimate caretaking, was second nature to him, a right he was entitled to rather than a chore.

Julian sat frozen, staring down at the top of the man’s head. From this angle, he could see the dark, thick hair, the sharp, masculine line of his jaw, and the high, straight bridge of his nose that looked as if it had been carved from marble. The harsh lines of Ethan’s face were softened by his downward gaze, by the focus he was dedicating to merely warming Julian’s feet.

In that fleeting moment, Julian’s heart skipped a beat, losing its rhythm entirely. No matter how hard he tried to summon his cynical defenses, the erratic pounding in his chest refused to calm down.

This person… this man truly knew how to disarm someone. He knew how to bypass the brain and strike directly at the softest part of the heart.

Julian let out a silent sigh, inwardly conceding defeat for the moment. He adjusted his expression, shifting back into the persona Ethan was accustomed to seeing, the slightly bratty, somewhat dependent partner. Whatever thousands of chaotic thoughts were swirling in his mind, whatever fears of future betrayal or abandonment haunted him, Julian decided to shove them into a dark corner for now.

Fine. Let it be. He would take the warmth while it lasted.

He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear the mist of emotion, then reached out a hand. With a boldness that belied his internal turmoil, he ruffled the hair on the top of Ethan’s head.

“Porridge again?” Julian complained, his voice taking on a petulant whine: “I don’t even like porridge.”

“Alright, they are warm now.”

Just then, Ethan released Julian’s feet. He stood up, shaking out the duvet and pulling it up to cover Julian’s lap, tucking the edges in securely before responding to the complaint.

“Was it not you who, just the other day, kept demanding that I cook porridge for you?” Ethan asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Eating it all the time gets boring. The last time I ate, it was also porridge.”

It was true. The last time Julian had been conscious, before falling into this long, exhausted sleep, he had consumed a large bowl of porridge that Ethan had personally prepared. Now, after waking up, it was porridge again. It felt like a cycle of invalid food.

“Be good.” Ethan chided softly, his voice dropping an octave into a soothing register: “Your body right now is not suitable for digesting anything too hard or heavy.”

As he spoke, Ethan reached for the bowl on the mobile table: “Eat. This is seafood porridge. I have been simmering it since you were still asleep. It has fresh shrimp, scallops, and abalone. It will help you regain your strength.”

Ethan scooped up a spoonful of the thick, creamy mixture. He held it to his lips, blowing gently and meticulously to cool it down, checking the steam before extending the spoon toward Julian’s mouth.

Julian looked at the spoon. The porridge glistened under the warm bedroom lights. He could see chunks of pink shrimp, the white firmness of scallops, and slices of premium abalone diced into perfect, bite-sized cubes, all peeking out from the velvety white rice base. The aroma was overpowering, savory, rich, and laced with the scent of the ocean, instantly waking up his dormant appetite.

His stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl, betraying his feigned disinterest.

Julian decided not to be haughty anymore. He opened his mouth obediently and accepted the spoon.

The flavor exploded on his tongue. The natural sweetness of the fresh seafood was perfectly balanced, the rice had been cooked down until the grains had burst and melded into a silken texture, and there was a subtle, warming kick of ginger that spread heat down his throat and into his stomach.

He had to admit, the President of the Caldwell Empire was not a bad cook. In fact, his culinary skills were annoyingly excellent.

“Is it delicious?” Ethan asked. His hand was already moving to scoop the second spoonful, but his dark eyes were fixed intently on Julian’s face, monitoring his reaction with a hawk-like focus.

“It’s acceptable.” Julian replied, deliberately downplaying it to tease him. However, his actions betrayed his words as his mouth opened readily, waiting for the next bite: “In the future, if the Caldwell Empire goes bankrupt, CEO Caldwell could try opening a porridge shop. You might make a living.”

Ethan’s lips quirked into a faint, arrogant smirk: “Rest assured. I have enough money to raise you for several lifetimes. I will not be reduced to selling porridge on the street.”

Julian pursed his lips at the confident retort but didn’t argue back. He lowered his head and focused on eating.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, settling into a comfortable, peaceful silence. The only sounds were the soft clinking of the porcelain spoon against the bowl and the faint rustle of sheets. It was a cozy, domestic bubble that felt miles away from the cutthroat business world outside.

When Julian had finished nearly half the bowl, Ethan suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the tranquility.

“Did someone call you just now?”

Julian’s hand froze for a fraction of a second, barely perceptible, before he swallowed the mouthful of porridge. He kept his expression calm, masking the sudden spike in his pulse.

“Yes.” Julian answered smoothly: “Lucas Hill called. He was reporting on a few matters I asked him to handle previously. Guess what? Can you guess what we are working on?”

Ethan did not answer immediately. He reached out to the box of tissues on the nightstand, pulled one out, and leaned forward. With a gentleness that bordered on reverence, he wiped a smudge of porridge from the corner of Julian’s mouth. His movements were slow, meticulous, as if he were polishing a rare gem rather than wiping a face.

Only after he was satisfied with his work did he toss the tissue into the bin and speak, his voice leisurely and laced with a hint of amusement.

“With that personality of yours, never willing to suffer a loss, I assume you are devising some scheme to cause chaos for the Sterling family again, correct? You likely took advantage of the time I was abroad negotiating to set something in motion. Hmm?”

“It is true that it happened while you were abroad negotiating.” Julian let out a small, scoffing laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief: “But you are not entirely correct. It is not the Sterling family. Guess again.”

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