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Chloe was speechless. The doctor had clearly misunderstood. 

“He’s not my husband,” she quickly explained. 

This wasn’t something to joke about. 

“Then he must be your boyfriend,” the doctor said, turning to Brian. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Your girlfriend’s injured. Help her take off her shoes.” 

Chloe was wearing tightly laced sneakers, the kind that had to be undone first. 

“He’s not my-” 

Before she could finish, Brian crouched down, lifting her right foot with one hand. 

“The doctor’s right,” he said, his fingers deftly working at the laces. “You’re hurt. Better let me do it.” 

Chloe stared at him as he slipped off her shoe, then moved to the other. She couldn’t believe the head of the Steele family was helping her remove her shoes. It felt like she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. 

While she was still in a daze, he scooped her into his arms. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” she sputtered, flustered. 

“Were you planning to walk over in just your socks?” 

In stark contrast to her disbelief, he seemed calm, as though carrying her was the most ordinary thing in 

the world. 

He set her down gently on the examination bed. The doctor pulled the curtain shut and ushered him 

outside. 

Left alone, Brian stared at his hands. Even he hadn’t expected himself to act on impulse like that. In the fog of his fractured memories, there was only one person he’d ever helped with shoes before. 

But he couldn’t remember who it was. 

And just now, he’d done it again for Chloe. Was it simply because he was interested in her? 

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After examining Chloe’s injuries, the doctor said, “Nothing serious. Just bruising, no fractures. You’re in good shape, so you’ll heal quickly. I’ll prescribe some medicine.” 

“Thank you,” she replied. 

Later, Briand and Chloe left the hospital after collecting her medicine. 

Back in the car, she found herself staring at his hands again. They were a work of art, every line of muscle 

Chapter 55 Not My Husband 

carved to perfection. His hands could just as easily create beauty or deal death. 

Yet those same hands had just taken off her shoes and retied her laces. 

“You must really like my hands,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You’ve been staring at them 

nonstop.” 

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Chloe cleared her throat, awkwardly withdrawing her gaze. “Uh… thank you for helping me back there, Mr. 

Steele.” 

“You should thank me. I don’t do things like that for just anyone.” 

She fell silent, not sure how to respond. 

“Have you thought about how you’ll thank me?” he asked after a pause. 

She gaped at him. Hadn’t she just thanked him? 

“Or were those just empty words?” His gaze lingered on her. 

Pressing her dry lips together, she asked, “What if I take off your shoes for you and tie them again?” 

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied without missing a beat. “But I do hope you’ll stop calling me ‘Mr. 

Steele.‘ It sounds too distant.” 

Chloe glanced at him. The problem was, she had no desire to get close to him. 

“Then… what about ‘sir‘?” 

“Call me by my name,” he said. “Sir‘ makes me sound old.” 

But that was how everyone else addressed him. 

“After all, we’ll spend three months together. If you get used to calling me Brian, it won’t feel so stiff between us. After that, you can go back to calling me ‘Mr. Steele‘ or whatever you like.” 

Chloe drew a deep breath. “Fine. Brian, then.” 

Three months. She could endure that much. 

“In that case, I’ll call you Chloe.” 

“Just do as you please,” she replied, too tired to argue. 

“Chloe.” 

Her name slipped past his lips, his tone cool and indifferent. 

She froze. 

Many had called her that–her parents, her brother, her classmates, her comrades. But none had spoken it quite like this, laced with danger and edged with something she couldn’t name. 

Chloe shook her head, forcing the feeling away. 

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The car rolled to a stop before a sprawling villa. 

“This is the Steele residence in Yarfdale,” Brian said, getting out of the car. “When I’m here, I stay in this 

house.” 

The villa was huge, staffed with live–in housekeepers, a butler, and full security. With her lacking expertise, her role as a bodyguard suddenly felt redundant. 

He led her to a bedroom. “You’ll stay here. My room is next door, so it’ll be easier for you to keep me safe. 

You’re free to go anywhere in the villa except the room at the end of the third floor. You must never open 

it.” 

His warning stunned her for a moment. It sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale–the owner of 

a large mansion with his forbidden chamber. 

But Chloe was never the type to pry. 

“Got it,” she said swiftly. “Anything else I should know?” 

“That’s all. Go unpack,” he replied. “If you need anything, ask the butler.” 

She nodded. Cradling the urn in her arms, she dragged her luggage into the room. 

The bedroom was lavish, decorated in an old–fashioned romantic style–plush carpets, ornate curtains, antique furniture. It wasn’t to her taste at all. She preferred clean lines and simplicity. 

But she was only here for a short stay. She had no right to complain. 

Her room was just next door to Brian’s, making it easier for her to protect him. 

Placing the urn carefully on the side table, she pulled out her phone and called the Quall Family Memorial Hall. 

She’d already made arrangements back in Corvessia, but she wanted to confirm once more. Her parents‘ ashes would rest in the hall for three days with their plaques prepared, before being laid to rest in Yarfdale’s national military cemetery. 

Her call was answered quickly. 

“This is Chloe Quall from the fifth branch, seventh line,” she said. “I’m back in Yarfdale now. I’d like to bring my parents‘ ashes to the memorial hall tomorrow.” 

Tradition required the ashes to remain in the hall for three days before burial. 

“Chloe, right? That’s fine. Come by tomorrow.” 

Winston Quall ended the call and put down the receiver. 

Willow, who had been watching him speak over the phone, suddenly asked, “Uncle Winston, who was on 

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the phone just now?”