Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson)

Gregory shot me a sidelong glance, not engaging in conversation, his grip on my wrist unyielding, leaving no room for me to pull away.

He pulled out his phone and made a call.

Shortly after, a server came in with antiseptic wipes and a tube of ointment.

Gregory snapped one of the wipes and gently cleaned my wound, his long lashes shadowing his emotions, but his voice was unmistakably muffled, "I can't control what happened to you in the past, but from now on, you need to take better care of yourself."

"The areas where you're careless, I'll cover for you."

My heart trembled slightly, and tears welled up in my eyes, my lips quivering, almost wanting to cry.

Turns out, it's not just sadness that can bring tears.

Before I could even speak, Gregory, a man who once claimed he was never good at delicate tasks like tending to wounds, was now applying the ointment with such care and precision, a focus I had never seer even when he was signing multimillion-dollar deals.

The cool ointment felt like electricity spreading through my body, making me instinctively shrink back.

Gregory frowned slightly, holding onto my ankle to keep me still, his tone annoyed: "Now you realize it hurts?"

"It's not that, it doesn't hurt."

Truthfully, it wasn't painful.

And the cool ointment felt way better than the constant rubbing of my wound against the inside of my shoe.

Gregory frowned lightly as he finished applying the ointment, swiftly putting it aside. He then scooped me up by my waist and settled me onto his lap.

He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes filled with resignation as he said, “Jane, it hurts, it hurts, okay?"

"I can't stand to see you hurt."

"Not even a little bit."

His possessive yet commanding voice filled my ears, and I suddenly looked up and kissed him.

But unlike before, I didn't close my eyes instinctively; I wanted to engrave this moment of deep affection into my heart forever.

I'm not particularly good at initiating kisses, often just clumsily trying.

But Gregory seemed to enjoy it, and when I noticed his body's reaction, my cheeks flushed, and I moved back, the alcohol finally hitting me, leaving me a bit weak.

His eyes were swirling with desire as he straightened my clothes, his one hand holding me close, the other pinching my cheek, "Alcohol really does give you courage, huh? Getting all flirty with me?"

"Knock, knock-"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Edith stood there, her smile blooming like a flower, her teasing evident: "What's all this flirty talk? Did hear something I shouldn't have?"

I reflexively jumped out of Gregory's embrace, standing up quickly, my face nearly on fire, my body feeling light, yet I forced myself to stabilize, "Edith, you startled me!"

Gregory didn't move, preemptively retorting, "Why didn't you knock?"

Edith, feeling a bit guilty but still defiant, replied, "I did knock, didn't I?" "Who knocks after opening the door?"

Gregory chuckled, pulling me back down to sit, noticing the ointment on my wound had dried. He carefully applied a band-aid over it while lazily

asking Edith, "Do you have any flats in your car? Jane's foot is rubbed raw."

I quickly interjected, "It's really not necessary, the band-aid will do..."

"It's no trouble at all, I always carry a spare pair of shoes."