Chapter 5

Samantha wandered through the elegantly decorated duplex apartment, a flicker of doubt crossing her mind. Did Noah's understanding of "just getting by" differ from that of ordinary people?

If someone living in a place like this, furnished with such taste, could still be considered "just getting by," then the Smith family residence she used to live in might as well be called a slum.

Noah's apartment felt new, as though he hadn't lived there long. The fully-equipped open-concept smart kitchen showed no signs of use, and his refrigerator held nothing but a few bottles of purified water.

Samantha headed to the supermarket and returned with bags of daily necessities, along with basic condiments and ingredients.

Uncertain whether Noah would be back for lunch, she picked up her phone to call him, only to remember his words—he couldn't answer during surgery.

Silently, she prepared lunch for two and waited for him in the dining area.

By one in the afternoon, Noah still hadn't returned. She ate alone, then thought about finding a room upstairs to rest. It was only then she realized Noah's apartment had only one properly furnished bedroom—the master, with its neatly made bed.

He had likely never considered a second person living here, so the guest rooms stood completely empty, spotless and bare.

Where was she supposed to sleep?

Just as she was feeling at a loss, Noah called.

"Are you... off work yet?" Samantha asked, unaware of the hint of longing in her own voice. She wanted him home earlier.

On the other end, Noah paused for half a second, perhaps surprised by the tone. But when he spoke, his calm voice was reassuring. "I have another surgery soon. If it goes well, I should make it back for dinner. Sorry to leave you alone at home."

"It's fine, I'm okay on my own. I just wanted to ask... where should I sleep?"

Her question made him pause again—whether he hadn't expected it or simply hadn't considered it, she couldn't tell.

"I'll sleep on the living room sofa for now. You go ahead with your work," she said, not wanting to keep him.

Just as she was about to hang up, Noah spoke again. "Samantha, what's our relationship?"

"Huh?" She was caught off guard.

"You're my wife. That's your home too. Sleep wherever you like—I'll respect your choice. Alright, I need to scrub in for surgery now. See you tonight!"

So... did he mean that as his wife, she should take the master bedroom, but if she wasn't ready to share it yet, he would respect that too?

Samantha's cheeks warmed slightly at the thought.

Noah returned around dinnertime. He placed his keys in the artistic metal box by the entrance, changed into slippers, and meticulously washed his hands at the sink nearest the door before heading toward the kitchen.

Samantha glanced up just as he was drying his hands—his long, pale fingers impeccably clean, without a trace of dirt even under the nails. They were the kind of hands that inspired instant confidence.

Had he just performed surgery with these hands, more elegant than a hand model's? Samantha found the thought strangely fascinating.

"You're cooking?" He sounded surprised.

She nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. "I didn't know if you allowed cooking at home. I..." She glanced back at the slightly cluttered stove, no longer as pristine as before, and apologized, "I'll clean it up."

"Let me."

Before she could move, Noah rolled up his sleeves. With those same hands capable of pulling people back from the brink of death, he swiftly tidied the kitchen, arranging the scattered items with an almost artistic touch.

"Smells good," he said, a faint, gentle smile seeming to touch his lips.

"It's almost ready. Just a moment," she replied.

He gave a slight nod. "I'll go upstairs and shower."

Passing through the living room, he noticed her shopping bags still on the floor. Samantha was about to explain she hadn't known where to put them, but Noah showed no sign of annoyance. Instead, he picked up all the bags and carried them upstairs.

They held her daily necessities and a change of clothes.

Samantha set the dishes on the dining table. When Noah hadn't come down yet, she washed her hands and went upstairs to call him.

The master bedroom door was open. She knocked lightly.

"Samantha, it's just the two of us at home. You don't need to knock." Noah's voice came from the balcony adjacent to the bedroom.

Walking over, she saw Noah holding her newly purchased undergarments—clearly already washed—and hanging them to dry.

Samantha's face flushed instantly.

She hurried over, reaching to take them from him. "I can handle these, you don't need to..."

"You're still injured. You should rest. I'm almost done." Noah quickly finished hanging the clothes. Noticing her lingering unease, he smiled softly. "Let's eat."

At the dining table, Noah sat across from her. His gaze lowered, scanning each dish thoughtfully.

Samantha felt as nervous as if she were being interviewed. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just made some simple home-style dishes. If you have any dietary restrictions or allergies, please let me know. I'll make note of them."

Realizing his scrutiny was making her tense again, Noah replied gently, "I have no restrictions. Cook whatever you like—I'm not picky."

He stood and served her a bowl of soup.

Samantha rose, flustered by the gesture.

His brow furrowed slightly. "It's just the two of us at home. There's no need to be so formal. And while I appreciate tidiness, I don't have OCD. Please don't feel overly anxious."

"Okay, I understand. Thank you." Samantha accepted the bowl.

Noah didn't start eating immediately. Instead, he looked up at her again.

Samantha couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze was peculiar—he was looking at her, yet it felt as though he was seeing someone else through her, a familiar yet distant presence.

"Did you... know me before?"

Noah lowered his eyes, picking up his fork with elegance. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry. Before we married, I forgot to mention—I've lost some of my memories. I'm... not quite whole because of it."

Noah rarely interrupted her, but this time, he did so gently. "I heard about it when you were with the Smith family. It's alright. Just take your time recovering."

"You don't mind?" Samantha was surprised. Wouldn't most people care?

"I'm a doctor. I've seen all kinds of conditions. It doesn't shock me, nor do I hold it against you. Please don't let it make you feel restrained. And the 600,000 to Evan—consider that a clean break from your past. You don't owe me anything for it, and there's no need to constantly accommodate me. We're husband and wife—equals in this marriage."

Noah held his plate and utensils, his tone steady and kind. He had a remarkable ability to soothe her nerves effortlessly. Samantha nodded quietly.

Noticing she still hadn't started eating, he added softly, "Eat well. After dinner, I'll help you with your medication."

Samantha suddenly choked on a spoonful of hot soup.

"Cough, cough..."

Clutching her chest, she started coughing hard.

Noah immediately put down his fork and stepped behind her. He gently patted her back a few times, and her coughing quickly eased.

"You need to stay calm when you eat," he said in a low voice.

She blinked, a little aggrieved. Hello? She wasn't freaking out—he was the one who scared her with what he said earlier!

Just as she was catching her breath and about to thank him, she looked down—and realized his hand was still... right in front of her chest. Okay, awkward much?

But Noah didn't seem to notice. He was still focused, watching her carefully like he was checking if she'd cough again. Samantha wanted to say something, to tell him, but the words caught in her throat. And thanks to the awkward tension, she coughed again.

Noah frowned and kept gently patting her back, trying to help, but the more he patted, the worse her coughing got. Her whole face was turning red from the struggle.

"Maybe something's in your airway. Let me take a look."

He reached out to examine her, but she quickly took a breath and stepped away, blurting out, "I'm fine! Really, thanks."

Only then did he notice the blush on her face wasn't just from choking. It was more of an... embarrassed kind of red. His gaze shifted to the spot he'd been patting moments ago. Yeah. It clicked.

And right when Samantha caught the look in his eyes—that sudden realization—her face turned an even deeper red.

He sat down across from her again, now looking a bit serious. "Samantha, I'm a doctor."

Sure, but... a male doctor.

She looked at him innocently.

Noah went on, "I know exactly how much pressure to use when applying medicine—enough for it to work but not enough to make it worse."

Samantha swallowed hard. Head down, she scooped food into her mouth like her life depended on it, pretending she didn't hear a thing.

She thought she could just bury her head and let it blow over. But clearly, she underestimated how persistent a doctor can be when he's trying to ‘treat' his patient.

Right after she put down her plate, Noah stood up too, already clearing the table before she even moved. "Go shower first. I'll handle the cleaning. You'll need to put on medicine later."

"I can clean too," Samantha shook her head and reached out to grab the dishes.

But in her haste, she missed—and grabbed his hand instead.

His skin was warm and dry. She immediately flinched and jerked her hand back like she'd been burned, standing there, frozen in total embarrassment.

Noah glanced down at his hand where she'd touched it, and for a second, his lips seemed to curve upward. But he didn't lift his head, so Samantha didn't catch that slight smile.

Flustered, she turned and hurried toward the stairs.

"There's a change of clothes in the dryer," he said behind her, his voice warm but casual. "It should be dry by now. You can put it on after your shower."

She froze halfway up.

That gentle reminder sounded oddly familiar. She turned around to look at him.

This unfamiliar apartment. And a still somewhat unfamiliar Noah.

Her mind stayed blank—no memories flashed back. She shook her head and kept walking upstairs.

The dryer buzzed softly—it was done. Along with the loungewear she'd bought, there was also a set of her underwear inside. Instantly, the image of his long fingers holding her other undergarment on the balcony flashed through her mind again. She couldn't help but feel awkward.

She figured it was time to have a proper talk with Noah.

In the master bedroom, Noah was lounging on the sofa with a medical journal in hand. On the coffee table sat a first aid kit, next to it the medicine he'd prescribed for her and a pair of sterile gloves.

Samantha, fresh from her shower, nervously tucked her damp hair behind her ear and took a breath. "Doctor Noah, I..."

"What did you call me?" he interrupted, brows slightly furrowed.

He had told her—call him Noah. It fit their relationship better.

She took another breath, her tone a little unnatural. "Noah, I think I'll just put on the medicine myself. I-I'm not really used to this."

She bit her lip right after, worried he might insist. She didn't have a good excuse to turn him down, but she still didn't feel ready. Her nerves started acting up again.

"Okay. I respect that," Noah replied calmly. "Like I said, it's just the two of us in this house. You're welcome to speak your mind. Seriously, you don't need to be so on edge."

He was more understanding than she'd expected, but no matter how nice he was, living under one roof with a man she barely knew—husband or not—still made her uneasy.

"I'll try. Um... about tonight..." Her eyes wandered to the huge bed in the room, clearly unsure.

Noah set the magazine aside and looked at her straight-on, his gaze serious. "Samantha, did you marry me on a whim, or are you actually hoping for something long-term?"

She looked up, curious. "What about you?"

Someone like him probably didn't even need to bother with blind dates. Why agree to an unexpected quick wedding with a stranger?

He raised one brow, then—surprisingly—laughed.

She stared, stunned. What's so funny? This guy barely smiles, and now he's laughing?

But it was brief, like a flicker. He quickly got serious again. "I take marriage seriously."

"Me too," she said, matching his tone. "Even if the wedding was impulsive, we've got the marriage license now. I'm in for real. And I'm done with Evan—completely."

Noah nodded. "Good. Go take care of the medication."

She headed into the bathroom to apply the medicine. When she came out, Noah was already half-lying in bed reading. Oddly, the bed that had only one pillow earlier now had two. The blanket on the other side was turned down—like it was waiting for her.

So... he wanted them to sleep in the same bed?

She froze in place, unsure of what to do.

Noah set his book down and looked over. "Samantha, we're married legally. If we're both taking this seriously, then it makes sense to try getting used to each other, doesn't it?"

He spoke in that slow, steady tone again—firm, but oddly reassuring, like it made sense to just nod along.

And she did nod, before even realizing it. Then panic hit. What had she just agreed to? But she quickly calmed herself—it wasn't like they weren't married. Sharing a bed was normal. Even if something really did happen, that would be... expected.

Still, was it really going to happen this fast?