As sunlight drenched the entire land, Harry Hunter drove to the inn where Isabella Weaver was staying.
Connor was arranging breakfast, so Harry went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of Isabella’s bed.
What differentiated him from the Hunter Family was that he still had a conscience; he couldn’t possibly abandon his sweet little wife.
Such a cute and sensible girl—if he let her go, he would never find anyone better than her.
He had finally found soone pleasing and comfortable. The future was so long and wouldn’t be so hard to endure with her by his side.
Isabella was a light sleeper. She sensed soone there and opened her eyes abruptly. Seeing it was Harry, her expression relaxed.
She sat up, her voice carrying the unique laziness of soone waking up: "Mr. Hunter, why are you here again?"
Harry, stirred by the allure of her voice, softly called out, "Connor!"
Connor ca in holding a steaming hot towel, handing it to Harry before swiftly exiting without once raising his head to look at Isabella, sticking strictly to the rules.
Harry took the towel and slowly wiped Isabella’s face.
Isabella tried to grab the towel: "I’ll do it myself."
"Just sit obediently, let do it."
Harry wouldn’t let her lift a finger; his greatest joy now was taking care of her. He’d even help her dress and serve her water if he could.
His expression was calm, his tone unhurried: "Who did you see yesterday?"
Isabella imdiately looked at him. After a while, she spoke up: "Your fiancée, Cherry Lewis."
Ah, his little wife was so honest and smart, she knew exactly what he was asking.
Harry lowered his head and kissed the smooth, white forehead of Isabella where he had just wiped, as a reward.
"What did she say to you?"
"She said..."
Isabella repeated every word Cherry Lewis had said to her without missing a beat.
She had to admit, Cherry’s words had indeed affected her, and she wanted to get an answer from Harry.
Harry laughed after listening. Isabella had mimicked Cherry so vividly, even imitating the way Cherry often called him "Brother Harry," which he found quite pleasing; he thought it sounded wonderful when Isabella called him brother.
Isabella had never called him so intimately; she always called him "Mr. Hunter," and even a single "Harry" could make him quite happy.
Seeing him laugh, Isabella was displeased and got out of bed to leave.
Harry pulled her back into his arms: "Call brother once more for ."
Isabella’s face flushed red, not out of embarrassnt, but sheer anger: "Harry, get out of my house, I don’t want to see you! Go to your fiancée!"
"Jealous?"
"Ridiculous! How could I be!"
"You’re definitely jealous, otherwise why get so mad."
Harry held her, pressing her entire body against himself, feeling her softness and fragrance, and his tone softened: "Stop with the fiancée talk. I don’t have any fiancée, aren’t you my wife? Aren’t we already married?"
Isabella gritted her teeth and said nothing, her head resting against Harry’s chest. Lately, perhaps because Harry had spoiled her, instead of biting her tongue out of anger, she directly bit him.
In truth, she wasn’t a person prone to impulsiveness or pettiness. She had been with Milo Field for a long ti and never acted on whims, let alone hit or bite.
Harry felt a bit of pain where she bit, but he remained silent, indulging her willfulness, with affection nearly brimming over in his eyes.
"Isabella, don’t believe anything she says. She’s trying to steal your husband. You have to hold your own, okay?"
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