Isabella Roscente woke again at ten in the evening.
She opened her eyes.
The man was there, slumped asleep beside her bed.
He stirred the moment she shifted slightly.
Sometimes, setting aside her hatred, Isabella had to admit Alexander Sullivan genuinely cared for her.
His concern and devotion weren't fabricated.
Yet his efforts only moved himself, never her.
"Isabella, how are you feeling?" he asked.
She remained silent, pushing herself upright.
She glanced at the darkened window, still saying nothing.
Alexander stood and adjusted her pillows for support.
"Would you prefer to go home tonight or stay here?"
She finally looked at him.
Her voice was icy. "Is there a difference?"
Wherever she went, his imprisonment followed.
Alexander's expression faltered.
He sighed. "Then let's stay. The night is cold. I don't want you catching a chill again."
"Take me home," she said.
He studied her, resignation on his face.
He nodded. "Alright."
Her earlier clothes were damp with sweat from the fever.
He had already arranged for fresh ones.
He dressed her himself, wrapping a scarf snugly around her.
The journey was brief: from the hospital to the car, then from the garage to the main house.
Alexander summoned Connor Evans.
Unlike Liam, Connor was friendlier, less aware of the details.
He likely only knew Isabella was Alexander's woman, cherished by him.
"Ms. Roscente, this cold weather is brutal. You must keep warm. My girlfriend was sick last week. Took days to recover. Miserable, she was. Complained constantly. I could barely focus at work. She lost three or four pounds that week. Guess how much I lost?"
Isabella sat in the back seat.
A faint smile touched her lips. "How much?"
"Ten pounds!" Connor chattered on. "Good grief, it drained me. Couldn't ignore her. Takeout wouldn't do. Had to cook for her every day. Said restaurant food was too greasy and heavy."
"You're very good to her," Isabella remarked.
Connor chuckled. "Nothing compared to Mr. Sullivan's care for you. When he heard you were sick today, he dropped everything in the meeting and drove over himself. And with his leg trouble, driving's not easy for—"
"Connor, that's enough," Alexander cut him off.
Connor sheepishly fell silent.
It seemed Mr. Sullivan didn't want Isabella knowing about his old leg injury.
Men often wish to appear perfect before the woman they love.
But it wasn't entirely that.
Alexander realized his love for Isabella was hopeless.
Even her polite, brief exchange with Connor sparked a flicker of jealousy.
They arrived home after eleven.
Isabella moved toward the bed.
Alexander brought over a mattress, bedding, and a pillow.
"I'll sleep on the floor tonight," he stated.
She watched him spread the blankets in silence.
Finally, she spoke. "Then you should check the room for anything sharp."
He paused.
Rising slowly, he approached her.
He leaned in close, a teasing smile on his lips.
"Someone who truly meant harm wouldn't give a warning like that. You're just trying to scare me."
His breath brushed her face.
He held himself just inches away, as if to kiss her.
His eyes locked on hers.
His tone was half-serious, half-joking.
"If I really die by your hand, so be it. I won't resist."
He guided her to sit on the bed.
"Rest now. Call me if you feel unwell."
He returned to preparing his bed on the floor.
One on the bed, one on the floor.
Only the pale, cold moonlight of deep winter filtered through the curtains, casting faint shapes in the room.
Perhaps she had slept too much during the day.
Isabella found no drowsiness.
She recalled Alexander's words to Julian Sullivan at the hospital before she fell asleep.
It seemed Alexander trusted Julian deeply.
The next day, Isabella felt much better.
No fever returned.
Her spirits were higher.
At breakfast, Alexander had cooked for her.
She ate a surprising amount.
Alexander looked at the empty bowl and smiled. "Your appetite's back."
Isabella said nothing.
He was used to her silence.
He smiled and began clearing the dishes.
"I've asked someone to find a caregiver for you. Should have news soon. Also, I have a business trip to Canada in a couple of days. You—"
He had originally planned to take her along, thinking a change of scenery might do her good.
But in her current state, travel seemed unwise.
"Stay here. I'll only be gone three or four days. I'll ask Julian to stay with you."
Isabella's expression remained blank.
But at the mention of Julian, her heart gave a faint stir.
She hadn't yet devised a way to suggest Julian's stay without raising suspicion.
Now, Alexander was offering the opportunity himself.
She smiled inwardly.
Two days later, Alexander departed.
She wasn't fully recovered, an occasional cough lingering.
Before leaving, he had a doctor check her and prescribe medication.
Julian arrived the day after Alexander left.
Isabella was curled on the living room sofa, a book in her hands though she wasn't reading it.
A knock came at the door.
She glanced up briefly, then returned her gaze to the book.
Julian let himself in with a key.
Seeing her on the sofa, he approached. "Isabella, how are you feeling?"
She gave a muffled cough. "Alright."
He carried a large bag of groceries.
"Wasn't sure what you like, so I got a bit of everything. I'll make breakfast. Alexander said you should eat before taking your medicine."
Isabella looked down at her book and turned a page.
Julian went to the kitchen.
He rinsed rice for porridge, washed and chopped vegetables.
As he was cutting, a warm, soft body pressed against his back.
Slender, pale arms wrapped around his waist.
Julian started. "Isabella—"
Her face rested against his back.
Her voice was soft and light. "I don't want breakfast. I want you."
Julian was horrified.
He turned and gently pushed her away. "Isabella, you—you—"
In contrast to his shock and tension, she showed no embarrassment.
Her gaze was clear and direct, utterly frank, as if her proposition was the most natural thing.
She looked up at him, this youth eight years her junior, innocent as a blank page.
She smiled slightly. "I was joking."
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