Love Drug Chapter 350: Take Back What You Said

Fraser gently wiped the tears spilling from Summer's eyes, his fingers brushing over her damp cheeks. But the more he wiped, the more they fell. Like glistening pearls, they rolled down one after another.

Fraser sighed in resignation.

How had he been the one to scold her? She had nearly taken his life along with hers, and yet she was the one calling him harsh?

Still, there was nothing he could do. Seeing her cry like this, his heart ached unbearably. "Alright, alright," he relented softly. "I won't scold you."

Summer, sensing her advantage, pressed further. "Then take back what you said."

"What did I say?"

"The part about killing you." She never wants to hear those words ever again.

Fraser lowered his gaze, his deep, penetrating eyes locking onto hers. The rippling brightness within them stirred something in his chest.

"Promise me," he said, voice low, "this will never happen again."

Summer hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Mm."

"In your heart," Fraser continued, "who is the most important?"

A faint smile curved her lips. "You."

Something dark and unreadable flashed across Fraser's eyes. He reached out, stroking her forehead lightly. His voice, rich and deep, carried a rare tenderness. "Get some rest. I'm right here."

Summer was still weak from just waking up, and exhaustion soon washed over her. Knowing he was by her side, the familiar scent of cedarwood surrounding her, she felt safe. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and within moments, she drifted into slumber.

Her long lashes cast faint shadows on her pale cheeks, her breathing soft and steady. She looked peaceful, delicate like a small, sleeping kitten.

She was only sleeping.

Yet Fraser sat there, watching her through the night, never once closing his eyes.

At dawn, Xavier arrived, leading a team of expert physicians into the ward.

As Summer's primary doctor, he personally oversaw all of her examinations. Even the blood tests, he insisted on drawing them himself.

The entire hospital knew that the VIP ward on the top floor housed someone of extraordinary status.

An entire floor had been reserved solely for her.

Nearly a dozen bodyguards stood watch, ensuring that no outsiders could disturb her.

Reviewing the latest medical report from the night before, Xavier gave a slight nod. "Her recovery is going well."

He turned to Summer and advised, "Summer, your legs may feel stiff and unresponsive for a while. Try not to walk too much just yet. Once circulation fully returns, the swelling and stiffness will gradually subside."

Summer gave a polite nod. "Thank you." She knew Xavier was being so attentive because of Fraser.

Once the examination was complete, Xavier stepped outside to discuss the results with Fraser. The two men spoke briefly at the door before Fraser reentered the room.

With the doctors gone, the rest of the day passed in quiet monotony.

Summer remained confined to the bed, practically treated as a national treasure. She lay flat at first, then sat up slightly, then reclined at an angle. But no matter what, she wasn't allowed to leave the bed. After an entire day and night of lying down, every inch of her body ached.

Meanwhile, Fraser sat lazily on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a tablet in hand as he handled company affairs.

Every so often, he would glance up at her.

Whenever her foot so much as grazed the floor, she would immediately feel his intense, piercing gaze land on her. She forced a sheepish smile, then quickly and obediently tucked her leg back onto the bed, pretending nothing had happened.

Fraser had been anxious and restless the night she woke up. But since then, he had returned to his usual, composed self. His expression was unreadable, and his emotions were veiled.

Every now and then, their eyes would meet.

She would stare into the endless depths of his gaze, dark as the night sky, yet illuminated like the pale glow of the moon. Distant, yet luminous.

Just as she found herself sinking into that darkness, he would always be the first to look away.

Other than that, everything seemed normal.

Fraser personally fed her every meal.

When she needed to use the restroom, he would put down whatever he was doing, walk over, and carry her into the bathroom himself. If she had not forced him to leave the bathroom, he probably would have stood there and watched her the entire time.

Fraser was considerate and meticulous. His gentleness was flawless. The only thing that felt off was his lack of expression.

Summer had a vague suspicion that he was still upset.

By midday, a maid knocked on the door and entered, pushing in a cart of food.

Fraser placed his tablet aside, rising with his usual air of effortless elegance.

The maid brought the meal to the bedside and swiftly exited the room.

Seating himself beside her, Fraser picked up a delicate porcelain bowl filled with a light, nourishing chicken and bird's nest soup. A faint golden layer of oil shimmered on the surface.

He used a spoon to carefully skim off the excess oil, ensuring only the purest broth remained. Then, he scooped up a spoonful, blew on it gently to cool it, and brought it to her lips.

Summer glanced at the spoonful of soup before obediently opening her mouth to take a sip. It was smooth, fragrant, and incredibly rich in flavor. Clearly it was the result of hours of slow simmering.

Fraser scooped up another spoonful, cooled it, and fed it to her again.