However, in front of outsiders, Morgan Ashworth didn’t show it. He frowned and said, "I understand."

"Master Ashworth, I..." The female doctor wanted to remind him a bit more.

Morgan Ashworth’s face had darkened, and he spoke sternly, "You may leave now. Show her out."

The female doctor, "..."

The female doctor was sent away. Morgan Ashworth stood outside, his large hand resting on the doorknob, intending to push the door open. He wanted to go inside and see her, but his actions halted.

He didn’t know how to face her.

Morgan Ashworth turned and left.

...

Willow Crawford stayed in bed resting for a few days. Her body was almost recovered, yet she hadn’t seen Morgan Ashworth during this time.

He hadn’t returned since leaving that morning, and Willow Crawford didn’t know what he was busy with or what he was thinking.

Willow Crawford kept worrying about his health and also wondered about the condition of the young master of the Western Reaches.

"Miss Crawford, here’s freshly made bird’s nest soup. Please drink it while it’s hot." The maid brought in the soup.

Willow Crawford had successfully climbed into the master’s bed and was considered half the mistress, so the maids’ attitudes had changed. They treated her with respect and showered her with good food and drinks.

"Where did your master go? Did he say when he would return?" Willow Crawford couldn’t help but ask.

The maid shook her head, "Sorry, Miss Crawford, we don’t know the master’s whereabouts either."

Willow Crawford was a bit disappointed.

"Miss Crawford, if you miss the master, you can use the landline in the living room to call him."

Willow Crawford’s eyes brightened, "Can I?"

The maid nodded affirmatively, "Of course you can."

Willow Crawford went to the landline. Her heart was racing uncontrollably, feeling a bit nervous. It was the first call since she became his woman, and she was inexplicably nervous.

In fact, she felt a bit wronged. He knew she was pure, so why did he leave abruptly that morning?

Was he dissatisfied with her?

It is often said that men don’t cherish what they’ve obtained, leading them to become players. Could he be one of them?

With a restless heart, Willow Crawford slowly dialed Morgan Ashworth’s phone number. Soon, the ringing sound could be heard from the device, but no one answered.

Every minute and every second of waiting was agonizing. He hadn’t picked up the call, and Willow Crawford felt as if a century had passed.

Her mind was in chaos, thinking about what she should say when the call gets through.

At that moment, the call was suddenly answered on the other end.

Willow Crawford was about to speak, but instead, a sweet female voice came from the other side, "Hello, who is this?"

This was Morgan Ashworth’s number, so how could it be answered by another woman?

Willow Crawford clenched her lips, her bright eyes filled with a hint of resentment. So, over the past few days, he had cast her aside while enjoying a new romance?

"Are you looking for Master Ashworth? He went to take a shower. You can tell me who you are, and I’ll ask him to return your call later."

Beep beep.

Willow Crawford immediately hung up the phone.

...

Willow Crawford returned to her room, lying in bed trying to sleep, but tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

Who was that woman?

What was he doing now?

Oh, he was taking a shower. Why was there another woman in his room?

Willow Crawford felt like a huge stone was pressing on her heart, making it hard to breathe, causing her both a sour and aching feeling. Her eyes were red, as if she was about to cry.

Indeed, love brings agony and grievance.

At night, two bright beams of car lights appeared outside the villa. Morgan Ashworth returned, driving the car back.

The villa’s door swiftly opened, and the maid crouched respectfully to change Morgan Ashworth’s shoes, "Master, have you had dinner? Would you like to heat some dishes?"

"No need, I’ve eaten." Morgan Ashworth took off his black coat and handed it to the maid. He looked up, his gaze falling on the tightly closed door upstairs, "Has Miss Crawford gone to bed?"

"Yes, Miss Crawford went to bed earlier today. It seems like her appetite isn’t very good; she only ate a little for dinner," the maid reported truthfully.

Her appetite wasn’t good?

Morgan Ashworth furrowed his sharp eyebrows slightly, "How is her mood?"

That day, he got her hurt, and because he felt ashamed to face her, he had stayed outside these past few days.

Now that several days had passed, her anger should have subsided, right? Maybe he could coax her and things would be better?

"Miss Crawford was in a good mood," the maid said.

"I see." Morgan Ashworth strode upstairs.

He pushed open the master bedroom door, leaving a warm yellow light inside, and the air was filled with a warmth. On his soft bed, a small figure was curled up—Willow Crawford was waiting for him, sleeping on his bed.

All the frost and fatigue on Morgan Ashworth seemed to vanish in that instant. His heart rippled with soft waves, as if it had finally found a home, and his soul was at peace here.

Morgan Ashworth walked gently to the bedside. Willow Crawford had fallen asleep, but she seemed to be having a nightmare, her delicate brows lightly furrowed.

Morgan Ashworth sat at the bedside, extending his slender fingers to stroke her beautiful little face.

In her sleep, she seemed to feel the touch of his fingertips, and like a little kitten, she rubbed her face against his fingers.

His suppressed feelings and desires over the past few days were stirred by her so effortlessly. He lowered his head and forcefully sealed her red lips.

In her dream, Willow Crawford was having a nightmare. She dreamt of Morgan Ashworth lying in bed with an improperly dressed woman, caught in the act by her.

Willow Crawford rolled up her sleeves and was about to deal with the pair of cheaters when she felt herself being pinned down, her breath stolen.

She suddenly opened her eyes.

Morgan Ashworth’s handsome, delicate face was magnified in her vision as he was kissing her.

Willow Crawford took a few seconds to react; he had come home.

Why did he come home?

Could it be that he had finished playing outside?

Willow Crawford reached out her small hand to push against his strong chest, forcefully pushing him away.

Morgan Ashworth moved away from her red lips, his hand pressed beside her, looking down at her. His gaze in the dim night was deep and hot, like two small vortexes wanting to pull her in, "What’s wrong?"

He still had the nerve to ask her what’s wrong?

Willow Crawford clenched her small fists to punch him twice, angrily turning her face away, refusing to look at him.

When she was angry, she was adorably fierce, her lips pouting with a pure, youthful aura, and thinking about the fact of Prince Rosen’s demise, she belonged to him completely, made his spirits soar joyfully.

Morgan Ashworth lowered himself again to kiss her.

"Morgan Ashworth, don’t~"

She refused to be kissed, so Morgan Ashworth’s thin lips landed on her cheek, her hair, then buried his head in her neck. His voice was already hoarse, "Don’t what, I want you. Willow Crawford, you belong to me, you’re mine alone."

She was his personal possession, and no one else could touch her.