From Broken to Beloved Chapter 150-she loved him

"You are worth my loving deeply, worth my cherishing, and worth my promise of marriage."

As Bert finished speaking, Catherine broke down in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Bert tightened his embrace, and Catherine buried herself against his burning-hot chest, finally crying out loud.

She had heard the words "I love you" before—more than once—but only this ti did they cut so deeply, so profoundly, carving themselves into her bones, becoming sothing she would never forget.

Because the man who spoke those words was also the man she loved to the marrow of her soul.

Once Catherine’s emotions gradually settled in Bert’s arms, she suddenly rembered that he had a fever. She hurriedly pushed at him,

"You’re burning up like this—I’ll get you so water and dicine, or we should just go straight to the hospital."

Bert tightened his hold on her, not letting her get up. Lowering his gaze to her face, he asked,

"Then you’re not mad at anymore? You forgive ?"

Having endured a high fever until now without taking any dicine or treatnt, Bert was actually reaching his limit. But he needed a clear answer from her—otherwise, wouldn’t all this suffering be for nothing?

To keep the pressure on her, Bert shalessly doubled down,

"If you don’t forgive and make up with , then I refuse to get treated!"

"How can you be so childish!"

Catherine was so exasperated by him that she didn’t even know what to say. She had always thought he was mature, steady, soone who had everything figured out—but listen to what he was saying now. Not making up ans not taking dicine? What was more important, his health or their reconciliation?

Bert buried his face into the crook of her neck. Gradually, his strength seed to fade, and his voice slowed with it,

"Call childish or boring if you want. I just know that I want us to be good together—no fighting, no sulking. Okay?"

"We t too late already. Let’s not waste what ti we have on argunts and cold wars, okay?"

Those words—we t too late already—hit Catherine right in her weakest place again. Her eyes reddened as tears welled up once more.

Yes. They had t too late. They should cherish each other instead of wasting ti in silence and resentnt. Whatever entanglents they had in the past no longer mattered. What mattered was that they loved each other now—and that was enough.

She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his waist on her own initiative. The scorching heat of his body made her tremble, and her voice trembled with it,

"Okay. We won’t fight anymore. We’ll make up."

She could clearly feel his body relax, as if he had finally been set free.

Softly, Catherine added,

"I’ve agreed to make up. Can you take your dicine now?"

Bert loosened his hold on her, his eyes filled with an intense smile,

"Okay."

As soon as he answered, before Catherine could even get up, his hand cupped the back of her head and his lips covered hers once more.

Bert didn’t care whether he might pass his cold to her. All he knew was that at this mont, he desperately wanted to kiss her.

And now that he had won her forgiveness, his calculated act of self-sacrifice had finally succeeded.

Of course, he also knew very well that her softness, her pain, her worry, her sadness—all of it existed for one simple reason.

Because she loved him.

In the end, Bert obediently took his dicine. Catherine fed him both fever reducers and cold dicine, and once he had taken them, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

He truly couldn’t hold on any longer. He had felt miserable all day yesterday—his throat aching, coughing nonstop—and soti after midnight he had started running a fever. He had stubbornly refused to take any dicine or treatnt, all just so he could make her worry about him today.

Now that his goal had been achieved, he had no energy left to keep going and simply fell asleep. On top of that, the cold dicine itself had a sedative effect, making it even harder for him to resist sleep.

After he fell asleep, Catherine took his temperature—it was 39 degrees Celsius. Her heart clenched with worry. She hurried to the bathroom, soaked a towel in warm water, wrung it out, and placed it on his forehead. Then she took another damp towel and repeatedly wiped his palms and the soles of his feet, helping to lower his temperature through physical cooling.

In truth, wiping the body with a towel was the fastest way to reduce a fever. But for Catherine, she was still too shy to undress him and wipe his body like that—even though they had already been intimate two years ago.

Thinking about it now, what had happened two years ago could be considered the beginning of their shared fate.

If that night had never happened, then when they t again two years later, she would have been a complete stranger to him. He wouldn’t have stepped in to help her, wouldn’t have gradually fallen in love with her, and there wouldn’t be the Catherine of today—surrounded by love.

She changed the towels several tis and wiped his hands and feet again and again. Only after his temperature began to slowly co down did Catherine finally stop and take a short rest.

Glancing at the ti, she realized it was almost lunchti. She quickly went to the kitchen.

Since Bert often cooked for himself, his kitchen was well stocked with ingredients. Catherine first set a pot of rice porridge to simr over low heat, then picked out a couple of light vegetables, washed and prepared them, planning to cook them after he woke up.

Bert slept very deeply. When he woke, he felt much better—no longer dizzy or lightheaded like he had been during the fever. The fever had mostly gone down, though the cold symptoms wouldn’t disappear so quickly.

Bert knew Catherine hadn’t left, and he knew she wouldn’t.

There was a cup of warm water by the bedside, and the air seed to carry the faint fragrance of white porridge.

That feeling brought him a sense of calm and fullness, and even more so, warmth.

At this mont, Bert could clearly tell: this was the happiness he wanted. This was the future married life he longed for. If they could soday have a son and a daughter around them as well, it would be absolutely perfect.

Last night, when he had heard Karl and Marylin talking about wedding plans, Bert had already felt restless. And now he felt that since the two of them had made up, and the ti bomb from two years ago had been completely defused, the next step between them should naturally be marriage.

Because he had been drenched in cold sweat from the fever, Bert went to the bathroom to take a shower after getting up.

Catherine had been busy in the kitchen. She had already chopped and prepared the vegetables. Checking the ti, she realized Bert had been asleep for nearly three hours. She thought she should go see whether he was awake—if he was, she would start cooking.

She pushed open the bedroom door and had just stepped inside when she heard the sound of a hair dryer in the bathroom stop. Then the bathroom door opened, and Bert walked out with only a bath towel tied around his waist.

He looked refreshed and clear-headed—obviously much better than before.

And of course, Catherine saw all of him.

The solid, well-built body that belonged to a man, the firm lines sculpted by exercise and training, the strong waist and abdon barely covered by the towel...

Catherine froze for a mont. Her ears flushed red as she quickly turned her head away.

"Since you’re awake, I’ll go back out and start cooking."

With that, she was about to flee through the door. She had never imagined she’d walk in on such an intimate, provocative scene.

Bert hadn’t expected her to co in so suddenly either—but since she was already here, he had no intention of letting her go. Yesterday, when things had been on the verge of happening and she had suddenly discovered his identity, the agony he’d felt was not sothing he wanted to experience again.

So Catherine was promptly pulled back by him. Bert lowered his head and went to kiss her lips. Catherine tilted her head, dodging him,

"Let’s eat first. You’ve slept for so long—you must be hungry..."

Hearing her words, Bert let out a low chuckle, his voice deep and rich, like a captivating lody,

"I really am hungry," he said slowly.

"Starving—desperately so."