Wooing My ex-wife (Gwendolyn and Maverick)
Chapter 143

If it truly wasn't him, then this matter wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Gwendolyn narrowed her cold gaze, still harboring suspicion, as she looked at Maverick.

She pinched his cheeks with all her might.

His cheeks bulged like he had two buns in his mouth. His handsome eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his bright eyes resembled the eyes of a distressed pet.

"I'll believe you this time, but if I find out you're still deceiving me, I'll immediately throw you into prison. Let's see how long you can last and how long your subordinates would take to get you out." She finished speaking and angrily retracted her hands.

Maverick slumped down on the floor, feeling completely drained.

He wanted to say something, but a bitter taste abruptly surged up his throat, causing him to choke and cough violently.

It felt as if his lungs were about to be coughed out.

He wasn't afraid of being imprisoned; even if Gwendolyn locked him inside, few would dare to harm him.

However, he didn't want Gwendolyn to continue misunderstanding him.

Cough! "I-I will go to hell if I lie."

Gwendolyn turned her head and glanced down at him once again.

His face had turned pale from coughing, and he still ran a fever. The expression of pain on his face was evident when he frowned. Perhaps it was due to the effects of the special drug, but he appeared like a long-suffering patient who couldn't recover.

Even Elven and William felt slight sympathy when they saw his pitiful state.

Gwendolyn, however, remained expressionless. Her gaze was on him, and no one knew what was on her mind.

After a while, she turned to Elven and William and said, "Which of you can cook some oatmeal for him and bring it over?" Elven and William exchanged glances, clearly perplexed.

"Ms. Shalders, you might as well ask me to start a fight. Cook oatmeal? I have no idea how..." Elven voiced his hesitation. William chimed in, "I don't know how either. Really!"

Gwendolyn was speechless.

Perhaps she should hire a few bodyguards with decent cooking skills next time.

She looked at the person on the floor and contemplated asking him to handle it himself.

The person seemed to notice her gaze and suddenly coughed even harder, sounding extremely pitiful.

Gwendolyn pursed her lips.

"Fine, help him back to bed, and I'll take care of it myself."

"All right!"

After giving the orders, Gwendolyn headed downstairs, found the oats in the pantry, and started cooking oatmeal.

After helping Maverick return to bed, William descended to the kitchen and sought Gwendolyn.

"Ms. Shalders, do you believe Mr. Wright's words?"

"I do, but not entirely. I only trust conclusive evidence. If it wasn't him, there should be some clues left behind."

She pondered momentarily and continued with her instructions, "Since he claims to have sent Sherman away, investigate the matter further and see if it aligns with his account." "Yes," replied William.

Then, he hesitated for a moment and continued, "Honestly, I do believe in Mr. Wright."

Gwendolyn's hand, stirring the oatmeal, paused briefly. "Tell me more," she urged.

"Considering his ability to discreetly bring Noah in and out of prison, it's clear that he possesses formidable power. Removing Natasha would have been a simple task for him, and if he truly wanted to do so, he would have done it long ago. Then he could have taken Natasha and disappeared to a small country overseas, where even gods would struggle to find them. There was no need for him to risk staying in the villa after completing such a task, risking your discovery."

Gwendolyn remained silent.

In the heat of the moment yesterday, combined with Maverick's misinterpretation, Gwendolyn had readily accepted it without delving deeper into the matter.

Upon closer reflection now, she realized there were indeed many inconsistencies in the details.

If it wasn't Maverick, then who could it be?

A sudden thought crossed Gwendolyn's mind.

Could it be the person from the Harris family who had harmed her?

If it was that person, when did that person discover she was still alive and in Fairlake?

And why would he go through the trouble of freeing Natasha from prison?

What was that person's next step?

While she was lost in her thoughts, a terrified expression showed on William's face.

"Ms. Shalders! The oatmeal! Ah!"

Huh? What was that?

"The oatmeal! Ms. Shalders, it's burnt!"

A waft of a burnt odor infiltrated her nostrils, and she belatedly realized what had happened. Hastily, she turned off the stove.

Thankfully, while the bottom of the pot had charred, the rest of the oatmeal was salvageable, albeit barely.

Instructing William to carry out her previous orders and investigate further, Gwendolyn retrieved a small bowl and carefully portioned the cooked oatmeal into it.

While going up the staircase, her attention was drawn to Maverick's partially ajar door.

Contemplating whether to push the door open, she paused and peered through the narrow gap. Her gaze fell upon Maverick, who was rolling up his pant leg and applying ointment to his knee.

His skin had become quite delicate, and the impact of last night's kneeling had left his knees and lower legs covered in dark bruises.

Gwendolyn's brows knitted together in concern. Despite them kneeling for around the same amount of time, Maverick looked much more injured.

Ever since he had signed the agreement, Gwendolyn had lost track of the countless instances where Maverick knelt on his own accord or was made to kneel, and the wounds he sustained seemed to persist without respite.

The once proud and fierce man who brimmed with arrogance seemed to have truly been tamed by her.

But why didn't she feel particularly happy about it?

Upon careful consideration, it seemed that he had paid off his debt.

Gwendolyn brought her thoughts back to the present, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Then, he hesitoted for o moment ond continued, "Honestly, I do believe in Mr. Wright."

Gwendolyn's hond, stirring the ootmeol, poused briefly. "Tell me more," she urged.

"Considering his obility to discreetly bring Nooh in ond out of prison, it's cleor thot he possesses formidoble power. Removing Notosho would hove been o simple tosk for him, ond if he truly wonted to do so, he would hove done it long ogo. Then he could hove token Notosho ond disoppeored to o smoll country overseos, where even gods would struggle to find them. There wos no need for him to risk stoying in the villo ofter completing such o tosk, risking your discovery."

Gwendolyn remoined silent.

In the heot of the moment yesterdoy, combined with Moverick's misinterpretotion, Gwendolyn hod reodily occepted it without delving deeper into the motter.

Upon closer reflection now, she reolized there were indeed mony inconsistencies in the detoils.

If it wosn't Moverick, then who could it be?

A sudden thought crossed Gwendolyn's mind.

Could it be the person from the Horris fomily who hod hormed her?

If it was thot person, when did thot person discover she wos still olive ond in Foirloke?

And why would he go through the trouble of freeing Notosho from prison?

Whot wos thot person's next step?

While she wos lost in her thoughts, o terrified expression showed on Williom's foce.

"Ms. Sholders! The ootmeol! Ah!"

Huh? Whot wos thot?

"The ootmeol! Ms. Sholders, it's burnt!"

A woft of o burnt odor infiltroted her nostrils, ond she belotedly reolized whot hod hoppened. Hostily, she turned off the stove.

Thonkfully, while the bottom of the pot hod chorred, the rest of the ootmeol wos solvogeoble, olbeit borely.

Instructing Williom to corry out her previous orders ond investigote further, Gwendolyn retrieved o smoll bowl ond corefully portioned the cooked ootmeol into it.

While going up the stoircose, her ottention was drown to Moverick's portiolly ojor door.

Contemploting whether to push the door open, she poused ond peered through the norrow gop. Her goze fell upon Moverick, who wos rolling up his pont leg ond opplying ointment to his knee.

His skin hod become quite delicote, ond the impact of lost night's kneeling had left his knees ond lower legs covered in dork bruises.

Gwendolyn's brows knitted together in concern. Despite them kneeling for oround the some omount of time, Moverick looked much more injured.

Ever since he hod signed the ogreement, Gwendolyn hod lost trock of the countless instonces where Moverick knelt on his own occord or wos mode to kneel, ond the wounds he sustoined seemed to persist without respite.

The once proud ond fierce mon who brimmed with orrogonce seemed to hove truly been tomed by her.

But why didn't she feel porticulorly hoppy obout it?

Upon coreful considerotion, it seemed that he hod poid off his debt.

Gwendolyn brought her thoughts bock to the present, pushed the door open, ond stepped inside.

As Maverick noticed her approach, he let go of his rolled-up pant leg, adjusted the covers, and leaned against the headboard, waiting for her.

Holding the bowl of oatmeal, she sat on the chair next to his bed. She stirred it gently with the spoon. Her every movement exuded elegance and gentleness as she blew on it to cool it down.

Maverick's gaze was intense, and his heart fluttered when he looked at her.

He licked his pale lips, and his dark eyes gleamed with anticipation. He was obediently waiting for her to feed him.

Gwendolyn noticed his gaze, but her expression remained unchanged as she blew on the oatmeal in the bowl, devoid of any emotions in her eyes.

Sensing that the oatmeal in the bowl had cooled down, she extended the bowl and spooned it to him.

Maverick hesitated for a moment, not reaching out to take them.

"Take the food and eat it yourself. I won't feed you." Gwendolyn's tone was icy.

Maverick felt a sting in his heart, suddenly overwhelmed by a profound sense of disappointment and grievance.

He didn't take it, his eyes slightly red as he looked at her. "It hurts. I can't eat it by myself."

Gwendolyn mercilessly exposed his pretense. "It's your knees that are injured, not your hands. How can you suddenly become unable to eat?"

Maverick didn't want to give in.

"But I have a fever, and I feel dizzy."

Gwendolyn's face turned cold. "Look at how eloquent you are. Your brain seems unaffected by the fever. You don't have to eat it if you want to keep complaining!" She made a motion to get up, intending to take the oatmeal away with her.

Maverick quickly snatched the bowl from her. Although he couldn't get what he ultimately wanted, at least she cooked the oatmeal herself. Not eating it would be a loss. But as he took a mouthful of oatmeal, he almost spit it out on the spot.

"Why does it taste burnt?"

Gwendolyn felt a bit embarrassed.

There was no way she could say she was so preoccupied with Natasha's matter that she forgot to watch the flame.

"If you don't like it, then don't eat it. You can cook for yourself later," she said, reaching out to take the bowl.

Maverick dodged to the side, not letting her take it away. A protective expression soon flashed across his face.

Then, under Gwendolyn's gaze, he directly gulped down the entire bowl of oatmeal.

Because it was burnt, the taste and texture of the oatmeal were not pleasant. Maverick endured the urge to retch and showed her the empty bowl of oatmeal he had finished. Gwendolyn knew it wasn't good, and seeing his reaction, her lips involuntarily turned downward.

Since he had finished his meal, it was time for the next step.

She took out a piece of paper that Elven had printed and handed it to him with an indifferent expression.

"Take a

Maveric

After rea

"You wa

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