Chapter 2 Handsome Husband

The Holt residence loomed in silence, its vast courtyard echoing with an unsettling stillness.

At the entrance, a middle-aged woman approached-Lucy Tucker, the family's loyal housekeeper. Her expression was polite but unreadable as she greeted Valerie.

Lucy led her through the sprawling house. The grandeur of the Holt estate was undeniable. Finally, they stopped in front of a secluded room at the far end of the upstairs hall. Lucy turned, her hand resting on the doorknob.

"Mrs. Holt, this is your room."

Valerie's gaze settled on the modest space beyond the door. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the instinctive sense of rejection.

Her new husband Jonathan was once the golden figure at the heart of the Holt family empire-a man who had climbed to power at an age when most were still searching for direction. Back then, everyone had flocked to him-drawn to his influence like moths to a flame.

But flames die out. Now, with Jonathan lying comatose, the same people who had once praised his name had disappeared without a trace, their loyalty proving as insubstantial as smoke.

And among them was Craig Brown. The name alone ignited a dull ache in Valerie's chest. Her father had thrown her away like a broken chess piece, all to shield his darling Lacey from the shame of marrying a man lost to a coma. Craig couldn't bear for his favorite daughter to sacrifice her future, yet greed gnawed at him. If Jonathan ever woke up-and power returned to his hands-Craig couldn't risk those benefits falling into someone else's pocket.

So Valerie became the offering. A pawn no one bothered to notice.

She exhaled softly, her breath barely audible in the vast, hushed house. The Holt family-an empire of wealth and legacy-loomed before her like a maze she had been forced to enter, knowing full well that every path ahead promised nothing but trials.

Lost in thought, Valerie barely noticed as she was led down a long, hushed hallway. Her dazed steps halted before an ornate, heavy wooden door. Lucy, ever composed, pushed it open with a slow creak that resonated in the silence.

Curiosity sparked in Valerie's chest, a fleeting ember she couldn't ignore. Inside the room was the man who had risen from an illegitimate child to the head of the Holt empire in a mere three years, only to later be struck down by fate.

The room beyond was unexpectedly bright, flooded with sunlight streaming through a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The air held a stillness, as though time itself had paused here. In the center of the space stood a specially made bed, its head slightly elevated to allow the light to touch the man lying there.

Valerie froze. Her gaze fixed on Jonathan, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

His face-so striking it seemed almost unreal-drew her in. Long lashes, dark and curled, cast delicate shadows against his now pale skin. His nose was high and sculpted, his lips thin but firm, pressed together in quiet repose. Each feature was defined and precise, as though crafted by an artist's most careful hand.

If she hadn't known better, she might have thought she was staring at a painting-something eternal, untouched by time.

But he wasn't just a work of art. He was alive, yet trapped in a silence more profound than death.

A soft sigh escaped Valerie, edged with an ache of regret.

Lucy, who had been tending to Jonathan since the car accident, meticulously explained his care routine to Valerie, her practiced tone leaving no detail overlooked.

Valerie nodded, tearing her gaze from Jonathan's face. She listened intently as Lucy described everything in detail-the care schedule, the feeding, the medication-every aspect of his existence now dependent on others.

Something about Valerie's quiet attentiveness seemed to soften Lucy's usual formality.

Then, without warning, Lucy pulled back the thin blanket draped over Jonathan.

The sunlight, streaming unfiltered through the large window, turned the white fabric of his pajamas almost translucent. The sharp contours of Jonathan's abdomen appeared like faint shadows, and further up-Valerie's eyes snagged on the subtle outlines of his chest, his toned physique betrayed by two faintly visible, rosy peaks.

For a moment, Valerie's brain short-circuited. Heat crawled up her neck, rushing to her cheeks like a wildfire she couldn't extinguish.

"L-Lucy, what are you..." Her words tangled as she hurriedly averted her gaze, trying to reclaim her composure.

Lucy's lips curled into a teasing smirk. "There's no need to be shy. It's just dressing changes." She waved a hand toward the neatly organized medical supplies nearby. "I heard you graduated from Cligend Medical School. You're probably more qualified for this task than anyone else here."

Valerie had been brilliant once, a rising star in mechanical intelligence. The kind of student professors whispered about in hallways, destined for breakthroughs that would change the field. But when her mother's accident shattered her world, she left it all behind and turn to medicine instead. Her brilliance soon became a lifeline in her medical research, an obsession that drained her every resource-time, energy, money.

And just when she had found hope-progress that could save her mother-Craig stole it away. He hid her, and left Valerie drowning in helplessness.

A bitter heat curled in Valerie's chest, rising like smoke. Hatred clawed at her ribs, desperate for release. But Valerie swallowed it down, forcing her breathing steady.

For her mother's sake, for the small chance of rescuing her, she would endure this. All of it.

"I'll leave you to it, then." With that, Lucy stepped away, the door closing behind her.

Valerie stood there, rooted to the spot, her gaze inevitably returning to the man before her.

Her chest tightened. Despite her extensive medical training, Valerie had never touched a man this intimately.

Even with Javier-the man she thought she loved-there had been barriers she never crossed.

Her fingers trembled for just a moment. Then, a thought-sharp and cold-settled the unease building inside her.

Jonathan was no different from a lifeless figure.

That single realization steadied her hands. Jonathan might have been alive in body, but in every way that mattered, he was still. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

Valerie inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the breath. Steeling herself, Valerie pulled back the fabric, her movements decisive and clinical.