Transmigrated Into The Body Of The Cursed Prince Wife-Chapter 331: "Mom, is he going to die?"

"She gave me more than I deserved, and I thought I could keep her by my side forever, but time and her way of thinking that she could save me from my curse took her away from me."

He was no longer talking to Ian, Ave realized, as even her son had lost interest in the conversation and seemed to be distracted by something else as he watched his palms in wonderment. He was speaking directly to her, and her traitorous heart was pounding so loudly in her chest it seemed to be coming from her head.

"I wish she would look at me with the love she once had in her eyes," he whispered. "I wish I could make her believe the things I want to tell her so badly that it hurts to keep them in."

Ave didn’t like how his eyes bore into her—or his words. They made her throat tighten with unknown emotions, and her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. His words made her want to reach out and smooth the sad lines on his forehead, to pull his head to her chest, to console him and tell him words that would never make him sad again. She wanted to cup his face and... and what? What was wrong with her? What was he doing to her?

He was obviously making things up to entertain her son, but why was she getting more affected by it? Why was he stirring emotions in her that no one ever had before? And most importantly, why was she suddenly attracted to him when she had never liked him?

Thank goodness the waiters brought their meals and broke the spell of the moment. She hurriedly looked away and kept herself busy serving her son, and for some reason, she began to serve him as well without even realizing it. It had happened naturally until she saw him grinning and then frowning as he noticed she had served him his meal.

Clearing her throat, she looked away from him and turned to Ian, who was already spreading his napkin on his lap without needing her to do it for him. He picked up his silverware and smiled a thank you to her for ordering his favorite meal.

"It’s still hot, honey. Don’t rush," she cautioned Ian tenderly. Then, realizing that the man she had served was not eating and staring at her plate and his, she arched a brow. "You don’t like it, Mr. Penn? It’s mushroom chicken. It’s my favorite, but you can order something else if you don’t—" she was saying as she reached to press a button to call for the waiter, but Lucian shook his head and grinned.

"I like it. I like it very much," he said and reached out to start eating.

He was happy—happy because his wife still had the same taste in food. Any chicken dish was her favorite, and the fact that she had served him smoothly like she used to in the past without realizing it brought a thrilling warmth to his heart. Even though he knew anything with chicken was something he shouldn’t eat, he didn’t care because she had served it. He would eat anything she gave him.

She flashed him a smile, believing he liked it just as she did, and began to eat as well. However, she was surprised when she noticed he wasn’t using his silverware properly—he wasn’t using the knife but the fork and a spoon, and that too he held in the wrong hands. Then, when the fork wasn’t working well for him, he used his fingers. Really? A modern man using his hands to eat? That was new. She decided not to make any comments.

"No, Ian!" she hurriedly exclaimed when she caught sight of her son reaching out to serve himself what they were both eating. "You can’t eat that, remember? It’s not for you."

Ian pursed his lips, eyeing the food his friend and mother were eating while he was served something else. "I will just have a little, Mom."

"You can’t," she said firmly.

But Ian gave her puppy eyes—ones she recognized he used when he wanted something. She began to shake her head no again when she caught from the side of her eye that Lucian was clutching his throat and chest. She turned to him and realized his face had turned red and that he seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as she got out of her chair to reach him. "What’s wrong? Are you choki—" she didn’t finish her words as she realized what was wrong when he fell from his seat to the floor.

"You’re also allergic to chicken! Damn it!" she gritted out as she recognized the symptoms so well.

She didn’t let herself panic. Being a doctor, she had been in so many situations like this and knew to think rationally.

"Mom, what’s wrong with him? Is he going to die?" Ian cried from the side as he came to kneel beside Lucian, who was slowly losing consciousness.

She saw the tears in her son’s eyes. Ian rarely cried, and when he did, he did it in secret.

"No, honey. He is not dying. I won’t let him die. Get me my bag on the chair, hurry," she said as she tried to smooth back the few little strands of hair on his sweaty forehead and clutched his head on her lap.

Ian ran around, got the bag for her, and came to crouch beside her. They were in the private VIP section where no one would see them unless she pressed a button to call a waiter. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a syringe and injection. Normally, she was never shaky when met with an emergency, but for the first time, she was. Her throat clenched with emotions as memories threatened to flood her mind and make her unfocused.

She pushed them away and pulled the injection into the syringe. Taking a deep breath, she injected it into the side of his neck and pressed it into his vein. Then, blinking away tears, she cuddled his head and began to caress his cheeks while begging him to wake up.

She didn’t know she was holding her breath until he inhaled suddenly and slowly opened his eyes. She let out a shaky breath and hugged his head to her breast, stroking his hair.

"Damn you! Why did you eat the food? You scared me!" she cried out as she clutched him to her and closed her eyes.

Ian, who was crouching on the side, watched them with teary eyes. He had thought his friend was going to die. He wiped off his tears and watched as his friend snaked his arm around his mother and held her to him. They held each other for a while until Ian decided to ask, "Mom, you gave him my injection. Is he also like me—someone who can’t eat anything made with chicken?"

Ave snapped back to her senses at her son’s words. Her eyes flew open as she quickly tried to push away from Lucian, but he held onto her tightly with his head against her breast and his arms around her. She should push him away, but then she knew how weak he would be after the injection. freewebnσvel.cøm

She had realized when Ian started to eat that he was allergic to chicken—a very rare case that had surprised her.

She liked chicken and had a stack of them in her freezer. The first time Ian had fallen off his chair and begun to struggle to breathe, she had thought he had been poisoned and that she would lose him. Thankfully, she had medical equipment at home, and when he passed out cold on the floor with a swollen throat and red face, she had known it was an allergic reaction.

It wasn’t the first time he had been attacked by it, as Ian would always like to eat what he wasn’t supposed to. Because of him, she had stopped cooking anything with chicken at home and had instead eaten out when she felt like having her favorite meal. Out of habit, she had carried around his injection in case of emergencies, and now she was glad she had it with her.

She had recognized what was wrong immediately when Lucian began to struggle because she’d seen it in her son. The dosage of the injection she gave him was for kids, and she knew it would make him feel better but not completely. Thus, she let him hold her. She would need to take him to the hospital to make sure his throat was fine.

Looking towards her son, who was waiting for her answer, she nodded her head. "Yes. He has the same allergies as you. Will you hand me the napkin, please?"

She smiled at her son, who was blinking down at Lucian. He nodded and went to get her the napkin.

Taking it from him, she muttered a thank you and looked down at the man in her arms. She moved his head back and saw that his eyes were half-open and hooded. She gently wiped the sweat from his forehead as she asked, "Are you all right?"

He only nodded curtly.

"Are you having any discomfort in your throat?" she asked again as she traced her finger against his brows. He nodded again.

"Can you stand? I will need you to walk to the car so I can take you in for a few check-ups." She gently stroked his head like she did for her son. "Can you do that for me, sweetie?" She felt her voice quiver slightly as he turned to look into her eyes at the endearment.

He nodded his head again, and unable to help herself, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his temple.

"Good. I’ll help you up. Ian, can you carry my bag for me?" She turned to her son, who was staring at them with a smiling face. He hurriedly nodded his head and grabbed the bag.

Ave stood up and helped him stand. He staggered on his feet, and she quickly wrapped her arm around his waist and put his heavy arm around her neck. After such an injection, one was supposed to sleep to regain energy, but they couldn’t afford to let him sleep here.

Lucian didn’t know why he was feeling dizzy, but he could barely stand on his feet. He’d been hit by one of these sicknesses before, but perhaps it was because he had his quick healing that he recovered from it quickly—unlike now, where he was a mere human with no powers.

However, he didn’t mind any of the discomfort because his wife was worried for him just like before. She held on to his waist, her head so close to him, and he leaned down and inhaled the sweet, delicious scent of her hair. Her ample breast grazed his side as they walked to the elevator, which Ian had opened for them and was waiting inside. He wanted to turn and hug her to him but held himself back.

By the time they got into the car, he was breathing heavily and exhausted. She sat beside him, fastened his seatbelt for him, and pulled his head to lean on her shoulder. "You will be fine once I get you to the hospital. Go to sleep," she whispered as she took his hand into hers.