The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen) novel Chapter 1468

In the evening, Fitch had brewed the medicine, and Thalassa, holding the steaming mug, approached Lysander's bedside to feed him.

She attempted to coax the liquid between Lysander's lips with a spoon, but his mouth remained firmly closed, rejecting the nourishing brew.

It seemed that Lysander still lacked the ability to swallow on his own.

With a sigh, Thalassa reverted to their established routine. She sipped the medicine, and then, leaning over Lysander, she gently pried open his lips to transfer the liquid into his mouth.

Back when Lysander's presence commanded every room, it was he who would initiate their kisses, assertively parting her lips and claiming her breath with the fervor of a conqueror.

He would lead her breathlessly into the depths of a passionate embrace.

Now, the roles were reversed. It was she who would softly press her lips to his, nudging his mouth open to feed him, to aid him in swallowing.

For three years, she had persisted in this daily act of intimacy, repaying each kiss he had once given her.

Oh, how she longed for Lysander to take the initiative again, for him to awaken with that assertive spark she remembered.

Three years of unilateral effort had taught Thalassa the toll of one-sided gestures—not just the physical toll, but the emotional drain as well.

The one who initiates craves a response, a sign that their efforts are not in vain, that they are acknowledged and desired.

But silence, the lack of response, only magnifies despair, deepening the ache of hope unmet.

Thalassa yearned for Lysander's response, for him to awaken, to exhibit any sign of conscious will.

Continuing her soliloquy, Thalassa gently caressed Lysander's face.

His features were sharp, his skin taut, exuding a masculine magnetism. Even after three years of slumber, his allure remained undiminished. The absence of sunlight had only made his skin paler, enhancing his handsome features.

A smile crept across Thalassa's face as she traced his cheek with her thumb—a gesture she would never dare with Lysander awake, a gesture that filled her with warmth, as if caressing a child's face.

After a moment's tenderness, Thalassa wheeled the chair into the bathroom to help Lysander with his bath.

The room filled with steam, misting her eyes and flushing her cheeks. With a towel in hand, she gently washed over every curve and contour of his body.

In this intimate space, where the air was warm and thick, Thalassa cared for Lysander with a devotion that transcended the years of silence between them.