Too Late to Love Her: When She Divorced, He Fell Apart-Chapter 51: If You Keep This Up, My Temperature Will Only Get Higher

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: If You Keep This Up, My Temperature Will Only Get Higher
Claire: "Wasn’t Jade your little sun, helping you out of depression? You’ve always said that our marriage was something I forced you into, and that I am a person with a dark psyche, who can’t be a little sun. So I definitely won’t be able to bring you warmth like she did. You should divorce me sooner and be with her."
"I won’t divorce."
Tristan Lockwood stared at her, enunciating every word.
He had taken some fever-reducing medicine, and now that it was kicking in, he seemed more spirited than before.
He had a look of defiant determination.
Claire looked at him speechlessly, "Why are you so unwilling? After divorce, no one would say you are morally corrupt—no matter if you find Jade, Ruby, Sapphire, or even Violet. People would even praise you for being so impressive, collecting girlfriends like postage stamps and gathering the ’Rainbow Squad’ series."
"Claire."
Tristan started using her full name, indicating his mood was sour.
"Who keeps saying her husband is morally corrupt all the time?"
Claire stood up from the bedside, "You seem quite energetic, I’ll go back to my room first. If you feel unwell again tonight, call me."
She was about to leave, but Tristan grabbed her wrist.
"You sleep with me tonight."
Claire looked down at him and asked, "You want me to stay with you?"
Tristan said faintly, "When you encountered that road rage driver last time and came to me at night, I didn’t refuse."
He was reminding her not to be ungrateful.
Claire thought for a moment, then lifted his blanket and climbed in.
Anyway, it’s not like they hadn’t slept together before; she was neither shy nor uncomfortable. She was already exhausted after a day at the office and taking care of this gentleman, and within a minute, Claire fell asleep.
However, in the middle of the night, she was quickly woken by Tristan’s heat.
The fever-reducing medicine had worn off, and he was burning at thirty-nine degrees again. Claire hurriedly called Clarence Finch.
Upon hearing the words "high fever not subsiding," Clarence told Claire to use alcohol for Tristan’s physical cooling and that he’d arrive in half an hour.
Claire helped Tristan remove his shirt and wiped him down with alcohol. Her hand just landed on his pajama pants when she heard Tristan’s weak voice:
"Can’t do it now."
"What are you thinking? I’m cooling you down."
She stripped his pants off, and Tristan looked at her head, "You’re doing this, my temperature will just keep rising."
"..."
Claire eventually wiped his whole body with alcohol.
He was confused from the fever, just making a strong front with words, but his lifeline was in her hands, and he didn’t have the strength to act out.
Clarence arrived quickly, even five minutes earlier than agreed.
He was about to inject Tristan when Tristan dodged his hand, saying, "I’ll do it myself."
Clarence handed him the IV needle and stood by to observe.
Tristan took the needle with his left hand and smoothly pierced it into the back of his right hand. Claire was stunned for a moment, "You still use your left hand?"
Tristan paused and raised his eyes to look at her.
Claire pursed her lips slightly.
Clarence: "Old Tristan only uses his left hand to inject himself. In routine medical examinations or surgeries, it’s always the right hand."
Claire pulled the corner of her mouth, "That’s quite impressive. It’s hard for left-handers to correct."
"Indeed, generally, left-handers only correct their writing using the right hand. Old Tristan basically corrected everything. Back when he first attended medical school, he was screamed at countless times for using his left hand by his teachers."
Claire didn’t quite understand the industry’s rules. While escorting Clarence downstairs, she asked, "As a doctor, do you have to be right-handed?"
"At least for surgeons, definitely yes. All medical equipment is designed for right-handed use—especially doctors who have to get on the operating table. Using scissors and forceps in the left hand would conflict with others."
Clarence paused, suddenly lowered his voice, and told Claire:
"Secretly telling you, old Tristan’s first time on an operating table with his teacher, he was so nervous he operated with his left hand, conflicting with his teacher’s moves and nearly causing an accident! After that, he was banned from the operating table for a whole year!"
Claire listened with her eyes down, then suddenly asked, "When did this happen?"
"During those years when he was studying abroad, I think."
Clarence casually replied, and when he reached the door and was hit by the cold wind, he recalled, "It seemed to be around this time, right before Christmas."
...
After seeing off Clarence, Claire went upstairs.
Tristan’s IV drip speed was like a rocket; within twenty minutes, he had completed a bag. Claire helped him change the medicine and touched his hand.
"Your hand’s cold, and you’re so quick with the IV drip. Don’t you fear pain?"
She slowed the speed down a bit.
Tristan stared at her, "How did you know I’m left-handed?"
Claire hesitated.
Tristan: "I corrected my regular tasks to use the right hand before I was twelve. I haven’t told anyone about this, so how do you know?"
"I just saw you writing with your left hand and stuff."
Claire said casually, "I’ve forgotten when—probably a long time ago, anyway, I’ve got a vague impression. Maybe you didn’t notice, habitually using your left hand?"
Tristan’s gaze deepened as he looked at her, but he didn’t say more.
Considering she seemed tired from yawning continuously, shortly later, Tristan actively suggested, "You rest first. I can handle it myself."
Claire looked at the few bags of medicine nearby, then at the time—it was nearly dawn, and she needed to go to the office later, so she shook her head, "I’ll wait for you to finish."
She then stayed by his bedside, head down, and started scrolling through short videos.
But as she scrolled, she couldn’t resist the sleepiness, began nodding off, and soon fell asleep, lying over.
When she woke up again, Claire found herself lying on Tristan’s bed, with no one beside her.
She got up and left the room, noticing the study door slightly ajar next door.
As soon as she pushed open the door, she heard Tristan say, "Too busy lately, didn’t have time to see you. Kiara will accompany you for the treatment in the afternoon."
He hung up the call and turned to see Claire looking at him meaningfully.
Tristan frowned, "You eavesdropping on me?"
"Nope, I was listening to you talk on the phone openly."
Claire leaned against the door, saying indifferently, "Fever gone? As soon as you’re alert, you think of contacting Jade. You’re really considerate of her—can’t bear making her worry about you being ill."
Perhaps considering she had taken care of him all night, Tristan rarely showed an unfriendly face but said, "I saw your divorce agreement. As I said, I won’t agree."
Claire: "Which clause are you dissatisfied with?"
"All of them."
"..."
Tristan walked in front of her, looked down earnestly at her for a while, and said, "After living together these past two days, I’ve discovered: it’s not like we can’t sustain this marriage, what do you think?"