Reborn As Mr. Coldwell's Wife
Chapter 145: So Sober

Chapter 145: So Sober

She turned back, surprised to find him looking up at her, his eyes open and a little clearer than before. He was still obviously drunk, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made her pause. His grip on her wrist wasn’t strong, but it was firm enough to hold her in place.

"I’m not going anywhere," Ellen said gently, her voice calm as she leaned in slightly. "But I just need to get you some water... and a towel to help you clean up a bit."

Mason shook his head slowly, his hand tugging at hers. "No," he muttered, his words slurred from exhaustion and alcohol. "Don’t need that. Just... stay."

Ellen hesitated, caught between wanting to help, and the strong appeal of his interesting request. It wasn’t often—if ever—that he asked for her to simply be there. His hand was warm against hers, his fingers curled around her wrist in a way that made it clear he didn’t want her to leave, not even for a moment.

She let out a soft sigh, her expression softening. "Alright," she whispered, moving closer to the bed. "I’ll stay."

Gently, she sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him too much. Mason’s hand still held hers, but his grip loosened just a little as if satisfied that she wasn’t going anywhere. For a moment, Ellen watched him, her gaze tracing the lines of his face, the subtle signs of exhaustion mixed with the effects of the alcohol. He looked more vulnerable than she had seen him before.

But just as Ellen settled, Mason shifted slightly, his eyes opening again, though still heavy with sleep. He tapped the space beside him. "Lay down," he asked.

Ellen blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Mason tapped the spot beside him again, his gaze steady on hers. "Lay down... here," he repeated.

Ellen stared at him for a moment, her mind racing. She knew Mason was drunk—there was no denying that—but the request still left her feeling a little uneasy. He had never asked her to be this close, not like this. For a moment, she wondered if it was just the alcohol talking, or if, deep down, there was something more.

She bit her lip, her heart beating just a little faster. It wasn’t like this kind of thing happened often. In fact, it didn’t happen at all. So maybe... maybe she should take it for what it was. A moment. An opportunity to be close to him, even if it was just because he was too drunk to think straight.

"Alright," she finally whispered.

Slowly, Ellen stood up from the edge of the bed, her gaze flicking to Mason’s face to make sure he was still conscious enough to know what was happening. His eyes followed her movements, but he didn’t say anything more, just waited.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, moving carefully as if afraid that any sudden motion would break the spell. The sheets felt cool against her legs as she settled down, lying on her side beside Mason. He shifted slightly to make more room for her, his hand still loosely holding hers as if to ensure she wouldn’t leave.

Ellen laid there for a moment, her body stiff, unsure of what to do. What now?

She could feel his warmth enveloping her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he breathed. The faint scent of alcohol lingered on his breath, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. Mason didn’t say anything more, his eyes drifting closed again, but his hand remained on hers.

But then, she felt it—his hand slowly loosening its grip. For a brief moment, Ellen thought he might have fallen asleep, that this little moment of intimacy had already passed.

But she was wrong.

Instead of drifting away, Mason shifted closer. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her into him with a lazy but calculated movement. Ellen felt his body press against hers, his chest warm against her back. His head nestled in the crook of her neck, and his breath fanned against her skin, causing a gentle, almost ticklish sensation. The intimacy took her by surprise, and it sent a shiver down her spine. For a brief instant, she froze, feeling her breath stumble in her throat.

What is he doing? Ellen’s thoughts raced, unsure how to respond to this sudden intimacy. She could feel his breath now, warm and unsteady, tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. It was a strange feeling—both comforting and unsettling at the same time. The scent of him, mixed with the faint tang of liquor, filled the air between them.

"God, Mason," Ellen murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to keep her thoughts straight. "You must’ve had a lot to drink tonight."

Mason shook his head in protest, his cheek brushing against her shoulder as he did so. "No, no," he mumbled. "That’s not true."

Ellen couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, though the moment felt somewhat off. His denial was so far from reality that it was almost funny.

She sighed softly and gently moved his arm from her waist, rolling over so that she could face him. They were now lying side by side, their faces just inches apart.

His eyes, though glazed from the alcohol, still managed to hold hers with a kind of focus. Ellen observed him for a moment, noting how his hair was slightly tousled, the way his features softened in the gentle light of the room.

"Fine," Ellen said, narrowing her eyes playfully as she reached out and poked Mason’s cheek with her finger. "If you didn’t drink that much, then how come you’re this drunk?" She punctuated her words with another gentle jab to his cheek, a small smirk forming on her lips.

Mason’s brows furrowed in mock seriousness, though his attempt at a straight face faltered. "Who’s drunk?" he retorted. He lifted his hand and lightly punched the bed beside him, as if to prove a point. "I’m sober. So sober... Sober-er than ever." His words tumbled out with over-the-top confidence, each one slurred just enough to make Ellen bite back a laugh.

"Right..." Ellen said in a slow, teasing tone. "Because this is what ’sober’ looks like."

For a brief moment, silence settled between them. Ellen expected the moment to pass, for Mason to drift off again or maybe even pass out completely. But instead, his expression changed. The mischievous spark in his eyes faded, replaced by something softer—something heavier.

"I’m so sober..." Mason began, his voice quieter now, more serious. "So sober that I’ve been thinking..." He paused, his gaze lowering for a moment before meeting hers again. "Maybe... maybe our marriage wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place."

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