Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 309: Spitting Blood

Chapter 309: Chapter 309: Spitting Blood

The turbulence continued, but the atmosphere between the two had subtly shifted.

Christopher swallowed three painkillers in one go. Once the medication fully took effect, he gradually stopped feeling the physical pain. Coupled with the warm, soft woman in his arms, his heart was immensely comforted. His consciousness grew hazy, and eventually, he sank into a deep sleep.

Amelia, held tightly within his embrace, pressed her ear against his chest. The powerful, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat eased her fear of the earthquake-like shaking of the plane.

In this unique moment, she unexpectedly felt a sense of shared hardship, as if they were in it together.

It was as though she had survived life and death, grown indifferent to fame and shame, and the usual worries and pains that conflicted her daily life now seemed insignificant.

Drowsiness hit her, the pull to sleep grew stronger. In a dazed moment, she instinctively tightened her arms around his waist. As her cheek unintentionally rubbed against his chest, she found a more comfortable position and drifted into slumber...

During the turbulence, Snow kept glancing at her friend, worrying about her every so often.

Seeing the two go from maintaining a distance as vast as the Milky Way to being so tightly embraced that they seemed like a single entity, she couldn’t help but chuckle to herself, letting out a relieved breath.

Ah...

Truly, Christopher managed to warm up her friend’s icy, stone-cold heart.

———

The plane emerged from the stormy clouds and rain, once more greeted by bright and clear skies.

The turbulence gradually subsided, now as steady as riding along a smooth highway. At this point, the plane had been flying for nearly four hours.

Benny and the others were drowsy, heads tilted as they peacefully dozed off. The cabin quieted down.

Christopher slowly opened his eyes.

After over an hour of deep sleep, his strength had clearly recovered, and his gaze sharpened with renewed clarity.

He felt a weight on his chest. Looking down, he saw the woman sleeping soundly, her expression serene. All her usual stubbornness and resistance had faded away, and an arm had even wrapped tightly around his waist, close and intimate like lovers in the throes of passion.

A smile unconsciously tugged at his lips. Raising a hand, he intended to brush away the strands of hair falling on her face to admire her exquisite beauty—but his fingers stopped abruptly before touching her.

This moment was too rare, so sweet and cozy it felt like a dream.

All he wished was to prolong it, to keep it going for as long as possible.

If he disturbed her and broke this beautiful dream...

So, it was better to hold back.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, his brows slightly furrowed, as he maintained his position for a long time. His body had gone completely numb, especially his legs, which—due to poor circulation—felt as icy cold as if submerged in a frozen lake.

Lucas King approached.

He knew his boss needed to move and adjust his posture, but before he could speak, his boss stopped him with a single glance.

Lucas glanced at the woman sleeping soundly on Christopher’s chest, hesitated, then turned back silently.

Christopher, unable to fall back asleep, simply stared dumbly at the woman in his arms.

Who knows how long he stared, but the sleeping beauty on his chest suddenly shuddered and woke up.

Assuming she might have had a nightmare, Christopher instinctively patted her back, as though soothing a child back to sleep—a habit he’d long forgotten.

"It’s alright... The plane is flying smoothly. Don’t be scared, go back to sleep..."

Amelia had taken calming medication before boarding, so her sleep had been deep. Upon waking up, her consciousness remained foggy and she didn’t immediately realize she was lying in a man’s arms.

It was his gentle patting that fully woke her up.

Raising her head, she found herself face-to-face with a warm wall of flesh. She froze for a second before suddenly sitting upright.

Christopher was prepared this time, quickly lifting his head to avoid another collision with her frantic movements.

"It’s still early, get some more sleep," he coaxed softly, wanting to savor the sweetness of the moment a little longer.

But Amelia was fully awake now, and there was no chance she’d comply.

She returned to her seat, her brow furrowing—having twisted herself while sleeping, her back and waist now ached unbearably, forcing her to stretch and rub away the discomfort.

"Back hurt? Let me massage it for you..." Christopher noticed her movements and reached toward her waist.

But the waist is a particularly sensitive area for most people.

Especially someone like Amelia, who already felt... resistant toward him.

So, as soon as his hand brushed her, she flinched away as though jolted by electricity, throwing him a sharp glare: "Don’t touch me!"

How could Christopher fail to see through her? Smirking, he teased, "You were lying in my arms, hugging me tight for so long. I didn’t see you acting shy then—it’s when you’re asleep that you’re likable."

"Who cares about being likable to you?!"

Thinking about how long she slept in his embrace, Amelia’s cheeks inevitably flushed in embarrassment, her gaze avoiding his entirely.

"Why didn’t you wake me up when you woke?" She deflected awkwardly, pretending to be annoyed.

"Why would I wake you?" Christopher replied, utterly serious.

"You—" She shot him a side-eye, at a loss for words, and ultimately muttered, "Forget it, I don’t want to talk to you."

Christopher was genuinely uncomfortable; though his legs weren’t paralyzed, they weren’t perfectly functional either. At the moment, they were not only frigid to the bone but felt akin to being gnawed at by thousands of ants.

Seeing her finish rubbing her own waist, seemingly feeling better, he pleaded pitifully, "Could I trouble President Norton to massage me too?"

Amelia shot him a sidelong glare, her expression unfriendly, instinctively assuming he was up to no good.

"Alright then... I won’t bother you." Under the sting of her sharp eyes, Christopher looked even more aggrieved, raising his voice to summon Lucas King.

To his surprise, Lucas had grown bold. Upon approaching, he quipped, "Madam, after sleeping in President Hart’s arms for so long, shouldn’t you offer to massage him as repayment?"

"..." Amelia stared at him, question marks swirling in her head.

Did she look like a masseuse? Her eyes still worked perfectly fine.

Christopher glanced at his assistant, unexpectedly impressed.

Lucas adjusted the seat to make it more comfortable for his boss, flipped him over to rest on his side, and positioned a pillow under his back.

Initially, he was about to massage Christopher’s legs to loosen them up and stimulate circulation. But halfway through lifting his hands, he had a sudden thought, snickering as he turned to Amelia: "Madam, this is your turn."

"Me? What for?" She stammered incredulously, failing to process his words.

Lucas responded, "Can’t you see how much President Hart is suffering?"

She stayed silent, pretending she couldn’t.

The two had just been sleeping in each other’s arms moments ago. As far as she was concerned, it was absurd to go from that to giving him a leg massage.

She wasn’t planning on rekindling their romance.

The previous embrace was entirely due to turbulence—an exceptional case...

"Madam, President Hart is willing to do anything for you. Gratitude and reciprocation are the cornerstones of real people, wouldn’t you say?" With his boss shooting him an encouraging look, Lucas confidently left this remark before turning away.

"Hey, you––"

Seeing her reluctance, Christopher grew even more expectant.

This long-haul flight was bound to get boring. Why not make the best of it?

Besides, everyone was stuck on the plane. There was no risk of her storming off in anger.

This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity...

"You used me as a living mattress. Helping me stretch a bit now—returning the favor—wouldn’t be too much, right?"

"Ha, of course not." She replied mockingly, her smile not reaching her eyes. Turning towards him, she indeed began massaging his legs.

Yet her technique showed no trace of mercy—hard and relentless, reminiscent of Nanny Harper stabbing Violet with needles.

But instead of wincing in pain, Christopher looked utterly blissful, his eyelids falling shut in contentment.

Frustrated, she lashed out: "Christopher, are you really enjoying this ’semi-disabled’ state? You seem to revel in it!"

Mr. Hart shook his head, "Not at all. I still prefer being up and about."

At least then, he could hug her whenever he wanted. Kiss her when the mood struck.

If she managed to escape in anger, he’d have the strength to chase after her.

"Is that so? I didn’t notice."

Christopher opened his eyes and fixed her with a serious gaze: "Although I’m enjoying your care, truth be told, I wouldn’t want you to keep caring for me like this forever. I’d feel guilty to burden you."

"..." His silver tongue was at it again.

When she ignored him, his devilish grin curled up the corners of his sensual lips. In a deep, teasing voice, he added: "Amelia, what just happened between us... does that count as sleeping together?"

Her hands froze, her glare snapped to him, and she slapped his leg hard.

"Hit me, go ahead—hit me as hard as you can. It doesn’t hurt, anyway. Just don’t hurt your hands!" Seeing her flare up in rage, he grew even more entertained, motioning for her to keep going with a nod of his chin while fanning the flames.

Amelia paused at his words. Her angry expression morphed into something more complex.

Now it made sense—the reason he didn’t show any reaction no matter how hard she squeezed or pinched—he couldn’t feel it?

If his legs had grown so numb, so unresponsive, could he even hope to recover fully?

Realizing this, her spirits sank, her expression sobering amidst silent contemplation.

Christopher, oblivious to her thoughts, was preoccupied elsewhere.

"Amelia... you’re not mad at me, are you?"

Knowing what he referenced, Amelia didn’t meet his gaze, diligently massaging his legs while replying coolly: "Why would I be mad at you? I’ve known what your parents are like since day one."

Perhaps out of fear that he might remain unable to walk, a trace of compassion softened her heart. She couldn’t bring herself to blame him, so she denied being angry.

Christopher raised an eyebrow: "So, you’re not taking it out on me?"

"Depends on my mood."

"Are you in a good mood now?"

"..." She stayed silent.

"I, for one, feel great." Her lack of response didn’t deter him from carrying on with his musings. "I came here despite everyone’s objections, and it’s worth every moment. I hadn’t held you in my arms for so long. Sleeping with you just now felt so grounding. Even my dreams were sweet."

Benny walked over, his face full of mischievous amusement: "Are you sure they were sweet, not... spicy?"

Amelia: "..."

Birds of a feather flock together—these two were nothing but trouble when paired.

"You’re proud of being a third wheel?" Mr. Hart retorted unkindly.

Young Master Palmer scoffed, "Who’s interested in watching you two fawn over each other?" With that remark, he passed by and headed toward the restroom.

The earlier comment, "I can’t feel anything anyhow," seemed to have hit her heart. Gradually, Amelia’s attitude shifted, becoming noticeably more meticulous as she carefully massaged his legs.

Christopher soon felt the numb, icy sensation in his legs ease. Faint warmth began to seep into his muscles.

"Alright, you’re probably tired now. Take a break," he said, gently catching her hand and holding it within his palm.

Although she pitied the hardships he was enduring, Amelia wasn’t about to let herself be swayed into reconciling.

"You’re fine now, so get some more rest." She quietly slipped her hand away and merely dropped a brief remark before leaning back into her seat.

Christopher managed a wry grin, sighed softly, and didn’t push further.

After all, the future was vast. Her icy walls had already begun to thaw—it was just a matter of time. Someday, she’d melt completely.

He had waited this long; he certainly wasn’t in a rush.

————

When the plane safely landed at River City International Airport, it was already 11 PM.

The moment the plane came to a halt, Amelia could scarcely believe that she had managed to overcome her psychological barrier. After surviving such a horrific crash, she could fly again and return home smoothly.

Standing on familiar ground, despite the biting cold enveloping her like icy water, her heart burned with exhilaration. She felt a wild urge to look to the sky and scream.

Snow approached and hugged her tightly: "Surviving disaster means blessings ahead! President Norton, I’ll be waiting for you to build the company bigger and stronger, so we can both become rich socialites!"

Hahaha...

Amelia laughed heartily, "Snow, thank you."

Her dear friend had traveled all this way and delayed work for several days to support her—it was a friendship truly worthy of cherishing.

"How silly! What’s the point of being formal with me?"

The two women embraced and chirped away endlessly while Christopher sat in his wheelchair, glaring at them with a dark expression.

"It’s cold. Get in the car so you don’t freeze," he finally reminded in a low tone.

Snow turned around, unreservedly poking fun: "Tsk, some people are jealous... Ridiculously so, with no sense of restraint!"

Jealous of another man was one thing—even jealous of a woman for hugging his adored? Now that was possessiveness to the extreme!

Amelia’s expression froze, and she discreetly pinched her friend.

"Why pinch me? Did I say something wrong? He’s obviously jealous! He’s bitter you won’t hug him but let me hug you! Humph!"

Christopher’s face remained stoic, and he calmly ordered, "Lucas King, arrange for Miss Fitch to be sent home."

"Yes, Mr. Hart."

Snow pouted and turned to Amelia: "See what I mean? That level of sourness rivals pickled mustard greens!"

Amelia: "..."

A bodyguard stepped forward: "Miss Fitch, may I escort you home?"

Snow dramatically waved her hand, spinning proudly on her heel: "Ugh, it’s freezing. This lady has no desire to linger in the cold! I’m leaving~"

With her emotions settling down, Amelia suddenly felt the cold intensify, shivering as her body involuntarily trembled.

In the next instant, Christopher rolled closer in his wheelchair, handing her a blanket: "Put this on."

"No need. Focus on taking care of yourself." His legs had poor circulation and were especially vulnerable to the cold—why was he trying to play hero like this?

On the way home, Amelia’s eagerness to return blinded her to someone else’s increasingly ominous condition.

When the car reached Imperial Garden, she leapt out and rushed toward the villa.

But alas, it was nearing midnight; the children were already fast asleep.

Aunt Harper greeted her, thrilled and emotional, on the verge of tears: "Madam, you’re safe and home! This is wonderful!"

Amelia smiled warmly and pointed upstairs, "I’m going up to check on them."

"Yes, they’re sleeping so soundly."

Unable to contain herself, she dashed up the stairs toward the children’s rooms, oblivious to the wheelchair that never entered the house behind her.

In the car, Lucas and the bodyguards prepared to move Christopher inside, but he stopped them with a raised hand.

Benny finally noticed just how frighteningly pale he looked.

"What’s wrong? Are you unwell?"

Christopher’s brows furrowed tightly, his breath catching desperately. With difficulty, he managed to cough, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

The sight left everyone alarmed!

"To... to the hospital—" He barely squeezed out three words before losing consciousness.