He Wouldn't Claim Me — Another Man Did-Chapter 65 - 58: Want You

"I can’t. I’m not fully recovered yet, so I can’t be complacent. It’s best if we avoid contact as much as possible."

Shane Sterling was not happy. "It’s bad enough work gets in the way of us meeting, but now a virus has to join in on the fun? We’re practically becoming star-crossed lovers."

"It doesn’t matter what you say. The answer is no," she said, rational and calm.

Shane Sterling wanted to wear her down a little longer, but he hadn’t slept for a full day and night and had just endured a high-intensity meeting. His consciousness was like ink bleeding on wet rice paper, the line between clarity and chaos slowly blurring.

He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Then kiss me, and I’ll leave." He leaned over, bringing his face close to Isla Prescott’s.

They were both wearing masks, but a mask couldn’t completely eliminate the risk.

Just as Isla Prescott was hesitating, Shane Sterling lost his patience and leaned in to kiss her.

Even with the mask between them, he lingered for a long time—so long that it made Isla Prescott’s heart skip a beat.

"I’m going to get some sleep." He patted her on the head. "If you feel sick at all, you have to call me right away."

"Okay."

Shane Sterling opened the door and left. Isla Prescott went back to the dining table and picked up the bowl of congee he had ladled for her, sipping it slowly.

It was congee made from leftover rice, so the grains had turned to mush and lost their character. It naturally wasn’t as delicious as freshly cooked congee, but to her, this bowl tasted sweeter and more refreshing than any she had ever had before.

Shane Sterling slept until dusk fell. He had a welcome dinner for a client that night, and before he left, he checked on Isla Prescott one last time, repeating his earlier instruction: "If you feel sick at all, you have to call me right away."

Isla Prescott laughed. "Is your programming bugged? Why do you keep repeating the same line?"

"You can figure out for yourself why I keep repeating it."

’Fine, fine, my mistake. I’m the one who triggered his system bug!’

Over the next two days, Isla Prescott felt like she had recovered. However, she still didn’t go to her studio, asking the other instructors to cover her dance classes. With so many children at the studio, she had to be responsible for their health.

She spent her days self-quarantining at home. When she wasn’t editing videos, she was sleeping.

Strangely, Shane Sterling hadn’t come to see her at all for the past two days.

Their chat history was frozen on a message from two days prior, where he’d told her he would be home late and she’d replied with an "OK" sticker.

Isla Prescott knew he was busy and figured he’d probably forgotten all about his patient. She was afraid of bothering him, and she also didn’t want to seem like she was checking up on him, so she never initiated contact.

After being cooped up at home for two days, Isla Prescott was going stir-crazy. That evening, she put on her mask and decided to go out for a walk. But the moment she opened her door, she saw Justin Wyatt sneaking out of Shane Sterling’s apartment.

The reason she thought he was being sneaky was because everything about him—from his expression and his footsteps to the careful, silent way he closed the door—screamed ’thief’.

"Assistant Vaughn, what are you doing?"

Seeing that he had run right into Isla Prescott, Justin Wyatt’s eyes darted around in a panic for a few seconds. "Oh, I’m just grabbing something for Young Mr. Shaw."

Isla Prescott glanced at the bag in Justin Wyatt’s hands. It contained some clothes and a glasses case.

"Is he preparing for a business trip?"

"No..." Justin Wyatt blurted out. He paused for a few seconds before correcting himself. "I mean... yes, he’s planning a business trip, so he won’t be back for a few days. You don’t have to wait for him."

Looking at the flustered Justin Wyatt, whose words contradicted each other, a suspicion surfaced in Isla Prescott’s mind. "He’s sick, isn’t he?"

Justin Wyatt licked his lips and gave up the act. "Yes, Young Mr. Shaw is sick. But he didn’t want to worry you, so he had me sneak back here to get his things. He specifically told me not to let Miss Prescott from across the hall hear anything."

"Is it norovirus?"

Justin Wyatt was stunned. "Whoa, you even guessed that? Miss Prescott, you’re amazing!"

’Justin Wyatt is so naive,’ Isla Prescott thought.

’Has it occurred to you that I might be the one who gave him the virus?’

--

Shane Sterling’s case was much more severe than Isla Prescott’s.

The number of times Isla Prescott had thrown up could still be counted on two hands. He, on the other hand, had lost count entirely.

In the car, Justin Wyatt described the scene of Shane Sterling’s violent vomiting to Isla Prescott, still shaken by the memory. "If I hadn’t been worried about the company’s stock price, I would have called an ambulance."

"How is he now?"

"The day before yesterday was the peak. He threw up twice yesterday, and he hasn’t at all so far today. He should be on the mend."

A wave of guilt washed over Isla Prescott. Justin Wyatt’s comment about the stock price might have been a joke, but it made her think. This was a man whose health could affect his company’s stock price. She wondered what the true cost was of the two days he’d lost because she had infected him.

’Maybe I never should have called him for help that night.’

The car pulled up to the entrance of the villa in Pellian Bay.

"Miss Prescott, I’m not going in." Justin Wyatt made a throat-slitting gesture. "If Young Mr. Shaw sees that I brought you here, I’m afraid he’ll fire me on the spot."

"Then what do I do if he asks about it?"

"Once he sees you, he won’t even think to ask about me. If he does, just change the subject. Cheer him up, get him in a good mood, and my job will be safe."

"..."

The moment Isla Prescott walked in, she saw Shane Sterling reclining on the sofa. A laptop was propped between his abdomen and his thighs, and his left hand—the one without an IV drip—was painstakingly tapping at the keyboard, replying to emails.

Hearing footsteps, he naturally assumed it was Justin Wyatt and ordered without turning his head, "Hand me my glasses."

’So he’s nearsighted.’

Isla Prescott took the glasses case out of the bag. Seeing that his hand was occupied, she took the glasses out of the case and, from behind him, gently placed them on the bridge of his nose.

As she leaned over, the ends of her hair brushed against his neck.

Shane Sterling first felt a tickle, then smelled her faint perfume, and finally realized it wasn’t Justin Wyatt who had entered.

He looked up, and his brows furrowed the moment he saw her.

"Why are you here?"

"Am I not allowed to come?" Isla Prescott set down the bag and sat beside him, reaching out to feel his forehead. "I should be asking you the same thing. What’s the point of hiding away just because you’re sick?"

Her tone was accusatory, but it couldn’t hide the self-reproach in her eyes.

Shane Sterling gripped her hand. "This is why. I can’t stand you looking at me with that expression."

"What kind of expression?"

"The look of a judge on the bench, passing sentence on yourself."

She lowered her head. "I’m sorry. I’m the one who gave it to you. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have caught this virus."

"It has nothing to do with you. I was just too confident in my own immune system."

But as it turned out, norovirus punishes anyone who tries to act tough.

Isla Prescott still felt guilty and apologized again.

Shane Sterling looked toward the door, his gaze sweeping the entrance. His voice dropped a few degrees. "Where’s Justin Wyatt?"

’I can’t believe Justin Wyatt. I told him again and again not to let Isla Prescott find out. All he had to do was keep it a secret for three or four days until I recovered, and this whole thing would have blown over.’

’But no, Justin Wyatt had to go and bring her right to my doorstep to confess.’

Hearing Shane Sterling ask about Justin Wyatt, Isla Prescott jolted and quickly changed the subject. "Are you able to eat?"

"Yes."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

Isla Prescott then realized that in all the time she’d been there, she hadn’t seen Mrs. Zane.

"Mrs. Zane isn’t here?"

"I had her take some time off."

The virus was highly contagious. If it could take down someone as young and strong as Shane Sterling, he didn’t want to risk Mrs. Zane, who was much older, catching it. Before he had even returned to Pellian Bay two days ago, he’d had Justin Wyatt arrange for her to take time off.

"So no one’s here taking care of you?"

Shane Sterling smiled at her. "Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?"

Feeling obligated for every possible reason, Isla Prescott had no choice but to offer, "Do you want some congee, then?"

"Yes."

She immediately went into the kitchen, washed some rice, and set it on the stove to simmer into congee.

An hour later, Shane Sterling’s IV drip was finished, and the congee was just about ready.

Isla Prescott ladled out two bowls and carried them into the living room.

Shane Sterling sat on the sofa while she sat cross-legged on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. They ate their congee in silence. Isla Prescott finished first, and when she glanced over, she saw that Shane Sterling had barely touched his.

"What’s wrong?"

"There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. I don’t have an appetite."

"It’s like that at the beginning." Having gotten sick two days before him, Isla Prescott was suddenly speaking from experience. "Just eat as much as you can. Don’t force yourself."

She leaned forward to take the bowl from his hands.

Shane Sterling watched her.

She had lost weight over the past couple of days, making the features on her already small face appear even more delicate. She had a straight, elegant nose and lips like cherry blossoms. Without a trace of makeup, she looked as clean and pure as the first pear blossom of early spring.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Isla Prescott asked, a little embarrassed.

"You should have antibodies now, right?" Shane Sterling asked suddenly.

Before Isla Prescott could process what he meant, he snatched the bowl from her hands and set it aside. With his other arm, he swept her into his embrace.

He found her lips as if by instinct.

Shane Sterling wrapped one arm around her slender waist and cupped the small of her back with his other hand, tilting his head up to kiss her.

His breath was scorching, like a flame. He burned away all her reason, leaving her to turn to ash with him in the rising heat.

Isla Prescott could feel a near-violent desire in every movement of his lips against hers. The air grew thin.

"Isabelle," he said, suddenly stopping. He rested his forehead against hers, panting. "I want you. Can I?"