Dumped My Cheating Ex. Now I'm Sleeping Next to a Billionaire CEO novel Chapter 1692

She had stayed by his side, taking care of him without ever changing out of her clothes. Yet back then, he had used alcohol as an excuse to deliberately make things difficult for her. The bathroom was only a few steps away from the bed, and he could have easily rolled over and gone inside to throw up. But he refused. He intentionally threw up on the expensive, hand-woven rug, then watched as Sylvia knelt on the floor, wiping up the mess little by little. Even though she worked tirelessly to care for him, and even though she clumsily brought warm water for him to rinse his mouth, he had pushed her away without mercy. The glass had shattered on the floor, splashing water all over her dress. He had stared at her pale, anxious face and humiliated her with the ugliest words. "Stop pretending to be a good wife in front of me," he had sneered. "Women who throw themselves at men are the most disgusting of all."

Steve never expected that the boomerang he threw years ago would hit him right in the chest at this very moment. His eyes were filled with suppressed gloom and bottomless regret. His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty as a bitter smile escaped his lips. Karma truly never missed. Sighing in resignation, he grabbed a towel and walked around to the other side of the large bed. Even though Sylvia still subconsciously resisted him, furrowing her brows and shrinking into the blankets, he firmly held her shoulders and gently wiped her face clean. The warm towel slowly trailed down her slender neck. Afterward, he went to the bathroom to rinse the towel again. Patiently half-kneeling by the bed, he meticulously wiped her palms and the tops of her feet until they were completely clean. Once he finished, he stood by the bed and stared at her deeply for a long moment. His gaze was a complex mix of emotions, blending heartache, remorse, and the bitter ache of an unattainable longing. In the end, he did nothing else. He simply reached out to tuck the covers around her, turned off the bedside lamp, and quietly backed out of the room.

The next morning, Sylvia woke up with a splitting headache. She had definitely drank too much last night. For one thing, the company's development had exceeded expectations, and everyone had taken turns toasting her, leaving her genuinely overjoyed. For another, Steve kept hovering around, entirely disturbing her peace of mind. Fueled by that mix of excitement and irritation, she had drank until she blacked out. Frowning and rubbing her throbbing temples, she slowly opened her eyes. The unfamiliar ceiling and chandelier that greeted her instantly sobered her up. This was not her room. She shot up into a sitting position, instinctively pulling back the covers to look down. Finding herself still in yesterday's undergarments, with only her coat removed and no strange discomfort anywhere on her body, she finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Immediately after, she frantically turned to look for her phone, only to see it placed neatly on the nightstand right next to her purse. Beside them sat a glass of milk and a white pill. Beneath her phone lay a folded note. She reached out and pulled it free, recognizing the man's bold, vigorous handwriting. "Take the hangover pill. Your head will feel better." Sylvia held the note, hesitating for a long time. But the aftermath of the hangover was too agonizing, her head pounding as if it had been smashed by a heavy object. Finally, she picked up the milk and swallowed the pill. With the warm liquid settling in her stomach, the nauseating wave of discomfort finally eased a little. Pushing the covers aside, she slipped into a pair of slippers, opened the bedroom door, and walked out.

As soon as she opened the door, the rich aroma of soup hit her face. Having only focused on drinking last night, she had eaten absolutely nothing, and right on cue, her stomach let out an embarrassing growl. Following the scent to the staircase, Sylvia peeked down and unexpectedly saw Steve sitting on the sofa in the middle of the living room. He wore dark, casual loungewear with his long legs casually crossed. A sleek laptop rested on his lap, his fingers constantly tapping away, likely handling work. Hearing the faint footsteps from the stairwell, his hands paused. He turned his head, and their eyes collided in midair. Sylvia's face instantly turned cold, her brows furrowed tightly, and her eyes filled with deep defense and displeasure. "Why are you here? Where am I?"