Billionaire’s Ex-wife : Craving You

Chapter 92
HAZEL
FOUR YEARS AGO
My relationship with Ravel had taken a notably smoother course lately. Ever since the incident at Anne’s place, I hadn’t received a single call from her, nor had we accidentally crossed paths. Initially, I couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t reached out, not even to offer an apology for the near-death experience she had put me through. It was only later that I came to the realization that Ravel had taken it upon himself to block her number from my phone.
Contemplating the idea of unblocking her, I weighed the pros and cons. But upon further reflection, I decided to let things be. Perhaps it was for the best if we simply maintained our distance and avoided each other altogether.
A month had passed since the accident, and I was growing increasingly weary of the routine-either staying at home or indulging in lavish outings with Ravel, all funded by him. It gnawed at me that I contributed nothing financially to our household. True, Ravel deposited a generous sum into my account every month, but the fact remained that I yearned to be more than just a financial recipient.
I had never been one to embrace idleness, especially not since my time in rehabilitation. Hence, the urge to do something productive had become an incessant itch. Resting my gaze on the untouched glass of wine in front of me, I realized I had been lost in thought for quite some time.
Ravel, his voice h oa rse with concern, broke the silence. “You’ve been staring at that wine for ages,” he pointed out. “Is there something on your mind that you want to talk to me about?”
Seizing the moment, I cleared my throat and looked at Ravel. “I’d like to discuss something with you,” I began, and Ravel nodded, his expression encouraging me to continue. “I want to start working,” I declared, studying his reaction closely.
His initially relaxed expression shifted to a slight frown. “What do you mean by wanting to work?” he inquired, tilting his head. “Is there something you lack, Hazel?” he asked, and I shook my head in response. “Then why do you want to work?”
Gulping down the remnants of my drink, I carefully placed the wine glass on the elegant table and leaned forward earnestly. “I want to work, not because I lack anything,” I clarified, “but because I feel like I’m going to go insane if I don’t do something productive.”
“You already have a job,” he pointed out, and I felt a surge of frustration building within me. “I can provide for you if that’s what you want, Hazel. You already have a crucial role.”

I sighed, realizing that I needed to make my point more explicit. “Ravel, I appreciate everything you do for me, and I love spending time with you,” I began, “but I need something more, something that gives me a sense of purpose beyond our relationship.”
“You are my muse Hazel. With you I create beautiful jewelry designs. You have a job.” He stressed.
My frustration bubbled oyer, and I snapped, “Can you please stop repeating that!” I emphasized, my tone sharp. “You and I both know that I don’t have a job right now.” Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I continued, “I want to visit Pascal’s art gallery and have him coach me through.”
Ravel picked up his glass, swirling its contents as he regarded me closely. “You’ve just survived a life-threatening situation, Hazel,” he pointed out, his voice filled with concern. “And now you’re talking about getting a job?”
“I’m okay, Rav,” I insisted firmly. “If I’m well enough to enjoy a glass of wine, then I’m strong enough to start looking for work.”
He maintained his piercing gaze, as though conducting a business meeting with one of his clients. “Have you considered what people will say?” he asked, his tone measured. “The press captured the moment you were rushed to the hospital. What do you think they’ll say if you start working just a month after being discharged?”
“So we’ll revisit this discussion in the future?” I inquired, hoping for a compromise. Ravel nodded, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was merely agreeing to put the matter to rest. “I’m serious, Ravel. We will talk about this in the future.”
Chapter 92
He chuckled softly. “Of course, we’ll discuss it in the future.” The tone in his voice hinted that his response might remain the same, even then.
Then, out of the blue, he broached a different topic. “Have you ever thought about us having a baby?”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Babies?” I hadn’t really given it much thought, and I hadn’t expected him to either. “I’m not quite ready to be a mother just yet. I’m still learning how to be a wife,” I admitted honestly. My life, as it stood, felt far from being put together enough to take on the role of a mother. “Do you really want to become a father so badly?”
He responded with a casual shrug. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he reiterated, his eyes conveying his sincerity. “I only asked because I wanted to understand your perspective on it.”
I pressed further, seeking clarity. “So you do want to be a father, but you’re not in a hurry?” I didn’t want to be the reason he held back from something he truly desired. If he was ready, I was willing to give it more thought.
“Exactly,” he affirmed, tilting his head slightly. “I want to be a father, but I don’t want to rush you into motherhood.”
His response filled me with warmth and affection for him. We continued chatting about various topics until eventually, fatigue set in, and I expressed my desire to leave. Before we departed, I placed an order for seafood takeout.
He responded with a casual shrug. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he reiterated, his eyes conveying his sincerity. “I only asked because I wanted to understand your perspective on it.”
I pressed further, seeking clarity. “So you do want to be a father, but you’re not in a hurry?” I didn’t want to be the reason he held back from something he truly desired. If he was ready, I was willing to give it more thought.
“Exactly,” he affirmed, tilting his head slightly. “I want to be a father, but I don’t want to rush you into motherhood.”
His response made me fall in love with him even more. I felt more warmth and affection for him. We continued chatting about various topics until eventually, fatigue set in, and I expressed my desire to leave. Before we departed, I placed an order for seafood takeout, a delightful way to cap off our evening together.
Yesterday, I had inadvertently overheard June confiding in the other domestic staff that she had never tasted a particular seafood delicacy in her life. That simple statement had imprinted itself in my memory, and I resolved to get her that delicacy someday. And today, as fate would have it, was that someday.
The car rolled to a gentle stop, and Ravel graciously helped me out. His hand rested on my waist as he led me into our grand manor. The moment I crossed the threshold, I embarked on a mission to find June, while Ravel headed upstairs to our