Done Chasing the Cold-Hearted Commander
After suffering from a miscarriage, I've gotten rid of all the habits that my military husband, Nathan Linwood, despises.
No longer do I ask him about his whereabouts. He can spend the night elsewhere for all I care.
When I get hurt in a rescue mission, the doctor tells me to inform my family about my condition. I merely shake my head and say, "I don't have any family."
But Nathan still arrives at the scene half an hour later.
The tall and broad-shouldered man looks at me, his voice extremely cold.
"Why didn't you seek me out when you got hurt?"
I lower my gaze. "It's just a minor injury. There's no need to trouble you at all, Commander Linwood."
For some reason, my nonchalant tone annoys Nathan. He's about to open his mouth when a conversation between the guards floats into our ears.
"Commander Linwood sure is concerned about Ms. Schuman. When she twisted her ankle during a performance, Commander Linwood had a helicopter rerouted to the venue immediately. He even carried her into and out of the helicopter, refusing to let her feet touch the ground at all."
Nathan's expression shifts into one of nervousness immediately. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly waiting for me to demand answers from him or kick up a fuss like usual.
But my eyelashes barely flutter at the conversation. All I do is close my eyes and rest.
Ten days later, I won't have anything to do with everything that's going on here.