Madly Yours (Nora Reed) novel Chapter 257

Hudson rushed back from the hospital in such a hurry he had skipped lunch.

The moment he stepped into the foyer, his eyes were drawn to the spread of food left on the dining table.

Several dishes were sealed tightly with plastic wrap, anchored by a small note. The handwriting was Nora's—neat and elegant.

[I've already eaten. This is for you. Heat it up before you eat.]

A faint smile played on Hudson's lips. He read the short message twice over before folding it carefully and tucking it into his pocket.

He peeled back the plastic wrap and touched the bottom of the plates. They were still warm, so he didn't bother microwaving them. He simply sat down and picked up his silverware.

There was half a plate of the BBQ ribs she hadn't finished. A few pieces were missing from the edge, and faint steam still curled off the rest. He took a bite, suddenly feeling like they tasted better than any five-star meal.

He polished off every last grain of rice, perfectly content with the lukewarm leftovers.

After clearing the plates and loading them into the kitchen sink, he took his time heading upstairs.

The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, the space beyond completely silent.

Hudson frowned slightly as he pushed it open. The room was empty. The bed was impeccably made, the curtains half-drawn, and the afternoon sun cast a warm, geometric patch of light across the floor.

"Nora?"

No answer.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. It rang a few times before a familiar ringtone faintly echoed from the bathroom.

Hudson walked over and rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Nora?"

There was a beat of absolute silence, followed by Nora's flustered voice. "Hold... hold on, I'll be right out!"

He didn't wait.

The door wasn't locked. A gentle turn of the knob, and it swung open.

A wall of heat rushed out. Thick, white steam billowed through the space, clouding his vision.

Nora stood by the edge of the tub, clutching a handful of loose rose petals, draped in a white robe. Startled by the door opening, she instinctively looked back. The petals slipped through her trembling fingers, drifting lazily onto the water's surface and sending out tiny, shimmering ripples.

Hudson leaned against the doorframe, one long leg casually bent, arms crossed over his chest. A slow, predatory smirk curved his lips.

"Are you saying that when Mr. Lancaster touches you, your anxiety symptoms don't trigger at all?"

"Yes," Nora had whispered, her voice barely louder than a mosquito's hum.

"When did this start?"

"The first few times we were intimate, I still broke out in a cold sweat. But later... it just vanished."

In the past, even a simple handshake would leave her palms dripping with sweat. A tap on the shoulder would make her freeze up for hours.

But now, when Hudson touched her, no matter how intensely intimate the act, she felt nothing but an overwhelming, trembling surrender. There wasn't a single trace of her anxiety.

"Dr. Dalton... am I... cured?"

"I wouldn't rule out the possibility."

Leona's tone carried a professional, cautious weight. "But it could also just be extreme overstimulation. Your cerebral cortex might not be transmitting the panic signals to your body."

Nora blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"When a person is in a state of extreme excitement or tension, the brain prioritizes the most intense immediate stimuli, temporarily blocking secondary signals. Your Intimacy Anxiety attacks are essentially a transmission of neural signals. If that signal is overridden, you won't feel the symptoms."