The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 421

He was actually trembling.

The room was silent for a long time.

Clara looked down at the top of his head.

"People like Noah because he's Noah. You've had different lives, you have different personalities, and you treat people differently. You're you, and he's him. You can't learn to be like him, and you don't need to."

She paused for a moment. "Don't try to be him, Rhys. Just be yourself."

Even if that "self" was imperfect—the man who had once arrogantly shielded her from the truth, who had wounded her deeply with his cold silence and endless suspicion.

Even if he was the man who always shouldered others' responsibilities but was absent every time she needed him most.

At least that man was real.

She hoped he could break free from the psychological cage that had imprisoned him for years, that he could live like a normal person, feel the everyday joys and sorrows, learn to express himself, and learn to forgive himself.

But she didn't want him to wear a mask, whether it was Noah's or anyone else's.

"If I'm myself, will you want me?" he asked.

His gaze was a sharp point that made Clara's heart flinch.

"It's not a question of wanting me or not," Clara said. "I stopped needing that four years ago."

The air seemed to freeze.

Rhys stared at her for a few seconds before standing up, his arm still wrapped tightly around her waist.

They were so close their breaths mingled.

Rhys's voice was hoarse. "You didn't need it four years ago. What about now?"

Clara's heart hammered against her ribs. She knew she should say something.

Tell him to let go. Tell him she needed it even less now.

But Rhys didn't give her the chance.

One hand came up to cup her face.

His fingers were still warm, the calluses on his fingertips feeling rougher than she remembered as they brushed against her soft skin before sliding to the nape of her neck.

It had been so long since they'd shared such an intimate touch, so long that Clara had almost forgotten the shiver that ran through her whenever he touched her.

Past hurts and present sorrows tangled together, causing her mind to go blank for a moment.

Rhys looked down at her, his gaze sweeping over the corners of her still-reddened eyes before settling on her lips.

Clara didn't even know when his lips pressed against hers.

It started as a feather-light touch.

When the slap he expected didn't come, a soft sigh escaped Rhys's throat, and the nature of the kiss changed. It became hungry, filled with four years of repressed longing as his lips moved against hers, pressing and exploring.

The familiar yet strange warmth and sensation pulled her into a disorienting warp of time. Her body was frozen in place, forgetting to push him away.

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