Craving 169

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At Harriet’s words, Ellsworth took a big bite of noodles, then 

looked at her and praised with a smile, “Your cooking has 

improved.” 

At Ellsworth’s compliment, Harriet just smiled and said nothing. 

Her cooking hadn’t improved; if anything, it had gotten worse. It 

was just that he hadn’t eaten her food in so long. 

Since they got married, this was probably the first time. 

She remembered that when she used to visit the Townsend 

mansion, he always liked her to cook for him. Even a bowl of 

egg fried rice would make him eat with relish. 

But all of that was in the past. 

Looking quietly at Ellsworth, thinking of their former closeness, 

and then of the years since their marriage, all those happy 

memories felt like they belonged to another lifetime. 

Soon after Ellsworth finished eating, as Harriet was clearing the dishes and heading upstairs, Ellsworth asked her to come to the bedroom, and she followed him. 

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Once inside, Ellsworth handed her a thick stack of asset 

statements. 

Harriet took the documents–they were heavy in her hands. 

Ellsworth was truly wealthy. 

Glancing through a few pages, Harriet said, “It’s too much. I’ll 

look through it carefully later, but I don’t have any special 

requests. The legal department can draft the agreement.” 

“By the way, about the shares you transferred to me before, 

have the legal department draft that agreement too. I’ll sign 

everything at once.” 

Seeing that Harriet showed no sign of wanting to stay or any 

reluctance, Ellsworth’s eyes gradually dimmed. 

After that, he turned and walked to the floor–to–ceiling window, 

picked up a cigarette and lighter from the side, and lit one for 

himself. 

As smoke drifted from his lips, Ellsworth let out a long sigh. 

Not far behind him, Harriet, seeing that he wasn’t speaking, held 

the asset list in her hand and said to his back, “I’ll go back to the 

next room. You should rest early too.” 

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As soon as Harriet finished speaking, Ellsworth flicked his ash 

and turned to ask, “Harriet, is this divorce really necessary?” 

Harriet looked up at him, seeing that he seemed to be in a bad 

mood and the wound on his forehead was still obvious. She 

said gently, “We’re not right for each other.” 

These past three years, the harder she tried, the more she 

realized how incompatible they were. 

Ellsworth just looked at Harriet and said nothing more. 

The two of them remained at an impasse. 

Eventually, Ellsworth moved first. He walked over to the coffee 

table, bent down, and stubbed out the rest of his cigarette in 

the ashtray. 

For a moment, the atmosphere in the bedroom was heavy. 

Harriet withdrew her gaze and, without a word, turned to leave. 

But Ellsworth took two steps forward and suddenly grabbed her 

wrist. 

Harriet turned around and looked up at him. 

At that moment, Ellsworth let go of her hand. 

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Turning to the side, he put both hands back in his pockets and, 

for a while, said nothing. 

Seeing this, Harriet rubbed her wrist where he’d grabbed her, 

but Ellsworth turned around again, cupped her face in his 

hands, and kissed her lips. 

Ellsworth’s sudden kiss made Harriet stumble back several 

steps until she fell onto the bed and finally stopped retreating. 

She didn’t close her eyes, but stared unblinkingly at Ellsworth. 

Ellsworth kissed her deeply, passionately. 

Holding Ellsworth’s asset list in her hand, Harriet thought of 

many things. 

After a long, heated kiss, Ellsworth pressed his forehead to 

Harriet’s, cupped her face in his hands, and asked in a low 

voice, “Hara, can’t we not get divorced?” 

Hara? 

Harriet looked into his eyes. 

It had been a long time since he called her that. 

Staring at Ellsworth without moving, Harriet tried several times 

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to say something, but each time stopped herself. 

She had already made her position clear many times, yet 

Ellsworth still asked, making things difficult for both of them. 

After looking at Ellsworth for a while, Harriet pushed him away 

from her and said softly, “Your forehead wound is still serious. 

Let me put some ointment on it for you. Also, your whip 

wounds haven’t healed yet, right? Do you want me to put some 

ointment on those too?” 

As she spoke, she got up and brought over the medicine box. 

As she opened the medicine box, she said, “Sit down, otherwise 

you’re too tall and I can’t reach.” 

Hearing Harriet, Ellsworth finally sat down at the edge of the 

bed. 

Harriet then took a cotton ball, dipped it in antiseptic, and gently 

disinfected his wound, then applied ointment and put on a new 

bandage. 

Harriet’s touch was gentle. As she applied the ointment, she would occasionally bend down and blow softly on the wound. 

When she was hurt as a child, her mother used to take care of 

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her this way.