She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 988

After a heavy, prolonged silence, Helena meets his eyes and speaks softly. "I don't know what you're trying to achieve by saying this, but I'm done playing guessing games."

"Perhaps we can try starting over," Morris says. "I want to get to know you."

There is a subtle, uncharacteristic trace of tension in his voice, but it is deeply sincere.

Yet to her, the words are just incredibly ironic and exhausting.

"Mr. Lonsdale." She maintains her polite, clinical distance, ruthlessly crushing the tiny ripple his words cause in her chest. "My morals remind me that you are just an experience from my past. I have to move forward into my new life."

"I refuse to be dragged back into uncertainty," she says gently. "Maybe I'm not ordinary, but Swain is my official boyfriend. He treats me wonderfully. He cooks for me, he remembers the things I like. The normal, everyday moments we share—that's the life I want."

"The life I want, Mr. Lonsdale, is something you cannot provide, nor should you have to."

She gives him a small smile. "As long as saving your life means the slate between us is wiped clean, that's enough for me."

If she were an average girl, she would drop the ordinary guy in a heartbeat to run into his arms. But Helena isn't average. What drew her to Morris was never his extreme wealth or his devastating looks—it was the magnetic, chaotic clash of their souls.

He studies her for a moment, not angry, just sitting back up. "You choose him so firmly. Do you think he would choose you just as fiercely, no matter what?"

"Without a doubt."

"I disagree," Morris counters. His gaze drifts down to her collarbone, stripped of all pretense. "Have you orgasmed with him?"

She chokes, her face flushing with immediate discomfort. "That is none of your business. That's my private life."

"So, no," he concludes ruthlessly. "Which means you're still aggressively punishing yourself with those toys. Your addiction has been suffocated ever since you left me."

"That doesn't mean I need you. As you said, I have toys. I can fix my own problems," she snaps. "My condition won't affect my relationship with Swain. He understands and accepts me."

"Furthermore," she adds, narrowing her eyes. "Stop questioning him. I'm the one living this life with him."

"Alright." Morris swallows the bitter taste of jealousy. "But my offer stands. I want to try to understand you. You can come back to me anytime."

"I won't," she says with finality.

She doesn't even know why she has to be so fiercely defensive around him. It feels like if she shows even a fraction of hesitation, she's admitting she made the wrong choice.

Silence falls over them again.

After three days in the hospital, she is discharged.

The moment she gets home, she texts Swain. He rushes over right after work. They eat dinner, cuddle on the sofa to watch a movie, and eventually make their way to the bedroom for a deeper connection.

But Morris's words play on a relentless, mocking loop in her mind.

She still can't climax. She feels absolutely zero pleasure. Faking moans and pretending it feels good is pure, agonizing torture.

What she doesn't know is that the shadows outside her apartment are now occupied by hidden bodyguards.

Every detail of her time with Swain is fed straight back to Morris.

He has never stooped to doing something like this before. This is a first.

Sitting in his home office, his fingers unconsciously tap a rhythmic beat against the mahogany desk. He stares down, deep in thought.

The door pushes open. Loyce walks in. "You looking for me?"

"I need your advice," he says, offering a rare, genuine smile.