Chapter 167: Senior, I’m on my knees begging you to stop talking.

Chapter 167: Chapter 167: Senior, I’m on my knees begging you to stop talking.

Outside the lecture hall’s corridor, it was secluded and quiet. The autumn wind rustled the leaves of the plane trees.

Miles Warren looked down at the reddened corners of Claire Kendall’s eyes and her small face, tight with anger. An unprecedented, scorching heat churned in the depths of his heart.

Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into his embrace. He bent down, his long arms tightening around her fuming form.

Claire Kendall, who had been bottling up a bellyful of anger, was stunned for a few seconds by his embrace before raising her hands to push him away.

She glared at him, her tone both angry and urgent as she berated him.

"Miles Warren, were you even listening to me at all?"

He stared at her intently, his dark pupils reflecting only her, and nodded. "I heard you."

He conceded in earnest. "I’ll remember. I won’t silently take the fall anymore. We’re a team, husband and wife. It’s not right to let outsiders slander you."

Claire Kendall bit her lip and frowned, the anger in her heart flaring even higher.

She stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to barely poke the man’s shoulder blade.

"Miles Warren, how can you be so dense? Are you unteachable?"

"The important thing isn’t that we’re a team, it’s your feelings! If you didn’t do anything wrong, don’t take the responsibility on yourself and suffer all that pressure and injustice for no reason."

Claire glared at him, enunciating each word as a warning. "This time, do you understand?"

His body stiffened.

In all his years, this was the first time anyone had ever told him that his feelings were the most important thing.

Miles Warren’s voice was very low, very solemn. "I understand, Claire."

"Hmph, that’s more like it—" Claire said in a prim, drawn-out voice. "As punishment, you’re going to be my inspiration model at home today. The kind that can’t move a muscle!"

"Alright," he said, his gaze indulgent, then added, "The kind that doesn’t wear a thing works, too."

Just as Claire was about to curse him out, a tentative voice called out from behind her.

"Claire Kendall?" 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

"Are you the Claire Kendall from the Design Department?"

A girl in a gray knit sweater stood a few steps away. Seeing Claire nod, she quickly rushed over.

"I was two years ahead of you, in the Math Department! Do you remember me?"

"Oh, hi," Claire said, confused. "I’m sorry, but I don’t quite remember..."

The upperclassman glanced at Miles Warren with the easy familiarity of someone spotting an old acquaintance.

"Oh my, you’ve forgotten? I was pursuing the guy next to you back then, and I had you write love letters for me for a whole year! I practically paid your living expenses every month."

"Your handwriting, your phrasing... thinking back on it now, it was so cheesy, hahaha..."

The upperclassman was poised and relaxed, her expression one of pure congratulation.

"I never would have thought you two would end up together. In that case, I guess you could call me half a matchmaker?"

Claire: ... ’Oh no, oh no, please stop!’

At that moment, she really wanted to drop to her knees and beg the upperclassman to stop talking.

Just a few days ago at the hospital, she had told a lie about these very love letters.

Claire shot a quick glance at the face of the man beside her.

Miles Warren was unfazed, completely calm. He even gave the upperclassman a polite nod.

But Claire could already feel the cold, murderous aura radiating from the man.

"Uh, it’s... such a coincidence seeing you. Let’s talk again another day."

Claire grabbed Miles and started to walk away quickly, then changed the subject. "So, Professor Warren, are you hungry?"

"I just remembered I have some unfinished work at OCHH, so I’ll head back to the office first... Don’t you..."

She was yanked to a halt by him like a little chick.

His deep voice sounded slowly from behind her, coolly uttering two words: "Go. Home."

「In the study at Regency Gardens.」

The floor lamp was on. Claire Kendall sat behind the mahogany desk.

Miles Warren stood beside her, taking the old love letters from a drawer and opening them one by one.

As expected, most of them didn’t have his name on them.

The few that did have his name on them were all addressed at the beginning, and the handwriting was clearly not Claire’s.

She hadn’t chosen him back then because, from start to finish, she had never even known him.

He, having once seen her writing love letters in the library, had mistakenly assumed they were for him.

Claire Kendall tilted her head back slightly to look at him, saying cautiously, "Um, Professor Warren, this is actually a kind of fate too. How two people start out isn’t important. What’s important is the result, don’t you think?"

She hooked her finger in his palm, cajoling him in a soft, sweet voice.

"Oh—"

Miles Warren stood behind her, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"So this is what you meant when you said you felt you weren’t good enough for me?"

He rubbed the sheets of letter paper between his fingers. "Mass-producing love letters and then selling them?"

"Claire Kendall, you’ve certainly got a head for business. Made quite a bit of money off me, did you?"

She nodded subconsciously, then quickly shook her head.

Miles Warren pulled out a sheet of A4 paper and tossed a pen to her.

"Write."

"Write what?"

"A love letter." Miles pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, casually crossing his long legs. He tapped the paper. "Write it now. To me. And it has to be heartfelt."

"I..." Claire clutched the pen, her brows drooping. She was completely deflated, all her earlier bluster gone.

’I was supposed to be the one punishing him by making him be that kind of model!’

’What happened? How have the tables turned?’

Knowing she was in the wrong, Claire braced herself and wrote a few lines.

But this wasn’t like back when she was desperate for living expenses; she had long since forgotten all those cloyingly sweet lines.

Even if she did remember, she got goosebumps the moment she started writing, and her fingertips cramped up. Gritting her teeth, she poked at the paper for a long time, only managing to get a few words out.

Claire looked up pitifully, her eyes moist, and shook her hand out as if begging for mercy.

"Miles Warren, my hand is sore."

"Can I stop writing now?"

He stood up, walked around to her side, and took her small hand, bringing it to his lips.

His warm lips brushed over her fingers, one by one, from left to right, before his kisses traveled to her palm.

When he was finished, he looked up, his voice lazy. "It’s not sore anymore. You can continue."

Claire: ...

’This is too much, way too much!’

"Miles Warren, you’re bullying me."

"I just wanted to earn some money for living expenses! I don’t even know who those love letters ended up with."

"Please let me off, okay? At worst, I’ll give you back all the money I earned from writing them!"

Miles Warren looked down, his gaze falling on her fair little hand clutching his sleeve. Her eyes were sparkling, full of an eager attempt to please.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Fine. You don’t have to write anymore."

Claire let out a sigh of relief.

"I don’t want the money. You can pay me back in other ways."