The fall had been no accident. 

Chapter 115 

She’d guessed Soren would come back tonight, which was why she’d chosen this particular silk nightgown with such care. 

No matter how emotionally obtuse Soren could be, he was still a red–blooded man. 

Poppy hated resorting to such underhanded tricks. 

But Helena’s words echoed in her mind: as long as she got pregnant with Soren’s child, Helena would make sure she married into the Fawkes family. 

Deep down, Poppy knew Helena didn’t actually care about having a grandchild. If she’d truly wanted one, with her forceful personality, there’s no way five years would have passed without a baby, even if Evangeline and Soren had been unwilling. 

This was all just a test–to see if Poppy was really as malleable as Helena thought. 

Once upon a time, she would have refused without hesitation. 

But now… 

She thought of all those sleepless nights, the pain and regret that had consumed her after learning of Soren’s marriage. She remembered the years of humiliation, the way people looked down on her for having no power or status. In the end, she had caved. 

The role of Soren’s wife had to be hers. 

Soren returned, carrying the first aid kit. He found the ointment for bruises and handed it to her. 

Poppy didn’t take it. Instead, she looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “I hurt my hand when I fell, too. Would you help me put it on?” 

He didn’t say a word, just sat down beside her. Squirting some ointment into his palm, he rubbed his hands together until they were warm, then gently pressed his hand to her injured ankle. 

Heat seeped through her skin, soothing the ache almost at once. 

For a moment, Poppy felt comforted. But then a heavy feeling settled in her chest. 

In all the years they’d been together, Soren had never taken care of her like this–not so tenderly, so attentively. 

1/2 

Chapter 115 

It was obvious where he’d learned it. 

She still believed she could win him back, yet the gentleness in his touch filled her with a sudden, inexpressible sense of dread. 

Oblivious to her thoughts, Soren focused on treating her injury, his head bowed. 

As he applied another dab of ointment, Poppy let out a soft, involuntary sigh. 

The sound, delicate and almost musical, made Soren pause. He glanced up, just as Poppy met his gaze. 

For the first time, sitting this close, he noticed the way her silk gown shimmered, the fabric barely concealing the lines of her body. At some point, the blanket that had covered her legs had slipped away, leaving her long, elegant legs exposed. 

Sensing his attention, Poppy leaned closer still. 

Soren’s breath caught. His throat tightened, heat spreading through him, making the air in the room feel suddenly thick. 

When his hands stilled, Poppy saw her chance. She slowly rose to her knees on the bed, reached out, and cupped his jaw. Before he could react, she tilted her face up and pressed her lips softly to his. 

“Soren, I still love you,” she whispered. 

She saw color flare along the tips of his ears, watched his pulse race wildly at the base of his throat. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, Soren gently pushed her away. 

His breathing was ragged, but his voice was firm. “I’m married.” 

“I don’t care.” Poppy bit her lip, eyes shining. “Soren, I just want you to know–I still love you.” 

Her arms slid around his neck, her voice low and insistent. “Soren, I know you love me too. You can’t pretend you don’t know why I came back.” 

Her delicate hands traced the line of his throat and down his strong chest, inching lower. 

Cha