Chapter 150

Her question hung in the air, followed by a few seconds of charged silence. The vast villa was so quiet you could hear the wind rustling outside.

"It's fine. I can manage on my own."

George broke the silence, pushing down the dark, frantic thoughts that surged within him. She can't help me. I'll scare her away.

The pale, handsome man's voice was pleasant, though laced with a hint of weakness. The small mole on his nose looked almost seductive under the lights, giving him a certain fragile beauty.

Marguerite blinked, trying not to let her imagination run wild. She couldn't picture what George would look like without his clothes... He always wore perfectly tailored shirts that hinted at a well-defined chest.

There used to be a gym on the third floor of the villa, where her parents often worked out. After they passed, Marguerite would sometimes go up there to run on the treadmill. She wondered if the gym was still there. She'd been living here for a while but hadn't really explored the house. It wasn't her home anymore, after all.

But it probably was still there. A man with George's physique definitely worked out regularly.

The cheeky part of her brain reined in its wild fantasies. She looked up at him, her clear eyes meeting his. "Are you sure?" She genuinely didn't want his arm to scar; she had no other intentions. None at all.

Meeting the girl's dazzling, almond-shaped eyes and hearing her gentle question, George felt the defenses around his heart crumble. His breathing quickened. She wants to help me? Just because I took a knife for her?

He took a deep, discreet breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. His voice remained as smooth and refined as ever. "Yes. Shielding you from that knife was my choice. You don't owe me anything, Marguerite."

His choice?

Of course, she knew it was his choice. No one had pushed him. But she hadn't expected him to say it out loud, to so completely absolve her of any guilt.

Marguerite found herself growing curious about the environment that had shaped him. Had he grown up entirely in an orphanage? Or was he adopted later on?

It was late, and George was clearly weak from his injury. It wasn't the right time to

pry.

After a moment's thought,

Marguerite said, "We're friends. I

can't just ignore you when your arm is like this. You lost a lot of blood. What you faint in the shower?

What if the wound gets wet and infected?"

Hearing her call him a friend made George's heart tremble. She sees me as a friend now!

Marguerite continued, laying out her terms. "So, you have two options. One, you don't shower tonight. Just change your clothes and go to sleep. You can shower when you feel better."

"Or two," she said, her voice firm, "I help you shower. But I promise, I won't peek. I'm not that kind of person!"

George fell silent. He would give anything for her to peek. He would give her everything to look at. He was just afraid of scaring her.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Marguerite felt her ears burn. Even she didn't believe herself. But I'll try my best not to look!

She blinked. "Choose quickly. It's getting late. If we wait any longer, the sun will be

up."

After eating Cajun food, the lingering smell of spices clung to them. That, combined with the sticky feeling of dried blood, made skipping a shower an unappealing option.

After a few seconds of thought,

George adjusted his glasses with his left hand. "Alright. I'll just take a quick bath in the tub tonight. If you're worried, you can just stay nearby and keep an eye on me."

There was a large bathroom on the third floor with a huge bathtub and a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a view of the city at night. Marguerite had never understood why her parents had installed such a bathroom; its style clashed with the rest of the villa And the giant window was even stranger. Who needed to look at the scenery while bathing?

But as she grew up and read more books, she began to understand.

...