No More Waiting, She Chooses Love novel Chapter 841

I didn't get the chance to finish my sentence because Ernest pulled me into a hug.

His face was close to mine, and he whispered, "She's alright. I didn't harm her. She's perfectly fine, not a scratch on her."

The warmth of his embrace, the familiar scent of him, and most importantly, his reassuring words began to calm the storm of panic inside me.

"You wouldn't lie to me," I said, my voice tinged with emotion.

"No, I wouldn't. Sinclair's over there. She's bringing her back," Ernest murmured, his lips brushing the hairline above my ear.

"But why did you come back?" I questioned, my skepticism creeping in.

His breath was warm against my skin, weaving through the strands of my hair. "Because I missed you, missed you so much..."

Could that be true?

First, there was a fake version of him, then a cold, indifferent one. It was enough to make me doubt everything about him.

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he loosened his grip ever so slightly and traced his fingers gently over my cheek. "Ask me anything, or yell, or hit me if you need to."

"Are you truly Ernest?" I asked instead of lashing out.

A hint of amusement danced in his eyes. "If you don't believe me, feel free to check."

He took my hand and placed it over his heart, but I quickly pulled back and walked further into the room.

I settled onto the couch, eyeing the fruit platter on the table and catching the aroma of food in the air. My gaze drifted towards the dining table, laden with my favorite dishes.

Ernest joined me, taking my hand gently. "Licia, I know you have a lot of questions and doubts. Don't worry, I'll clear it all up for you, one step at a time."

He knew me well, understood my inner turmoil.

True, considering I'd already eaten my fill.

"I'm not hungry. Watching you eat was enough," he said, and I knew it was both a truth and a playful tease.

After dinner, we sat on the couch in a silence that was both awkward and charged with unspoken words. It struck me that after being apart for so long, things between us had subtly shifted.

"Want some fruit?" Ernest offered.

"I'm too full."

"Then go ahead and ask me whatever's on your mind," he encouraged, aware of the crux of our issues.

I looked at him, suddenly unsure where to start. He seemed to sense this and offered a gentle smile. "Let me start, and you can fill in the gaps with questions."

That approach worked for me. I tucked my legs under me, ready to listen as he began to unravel the story—