Chapter 108 Chapter 108
“Oh, Nicholas, you...” Caroline exclaimed in surprise when the floor disappeared beneath her feet.
Without warning, Nicholas lifted her effortlessly in his arms, as if she were made of feathers, and walked to the bed, laying her gently on the soft sheets as if handling a precious relic.
He did not move away.
Instead, he rested one hand on the mattress beside her head and the other on her shoulder, holding her there with his intense gaze.
“Since you're not feeling well, your only task now is to lie down and rest,” he decreed in that authoritative tone that brooked no argument. “Tell me, my dear, what can I do to make you more comfortable?”
Caroline stubbornly tried to sit up.
“No, Nicholas, I don't need to rest. It's not that serious. And we have to pick up Sarinha from the hospital today, remember? I can't miss it.”
She tried to get up, but his hand on her shoulder, firm and warm, held her in place. His dark eyes stared deeply into hers, conveying unwavering seriousness.
“I said you need to rest, and that's final. When you're better, we'll go to the hospital. It's just a short delay, Sara will understand.” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, if you can't go, I will. I'm her brother-in-law. Don't you trust me to take good care of my own sister-in-law?”
Caroline blinked, disarmed.
“No, that's not what I meant...”
“Then behave yourself and obey your husband,” he said, his voice softening to a gentle but still firm tone. He caressed her face with the back of his fingers. “You're so pale you look transparent. How do you expect me not to worry?”
Tell me, Caroline: how did you deal with this pain before me?
Caroline looked at him for a few seconds, feeling the sincerity in his concern. Defeated by logic and affection, she relaxed against the pillow, giving up the fight.
“When I had cramps...” she began, her voice low. "Sara used to buy Buscopan for me. She would fill a hot water bottle and put it on my stomach. I always felt better after that. But... now that Sarinha is in the hospital, there's no one to do that.
A glimmer of understanding passed through Nicholas's eyes. He was silent for a moment, processing the information.
“Hmm, I see,” he murmured.
He pulled the comforter up to her chin, making sure she was warm, and gave her a loving pat on the head.
“Get some rest. I'll go downstairs and see what I can do.”
With that, he turned and left the room with determined steps.
Caroline watched his broad back disappear through the door and sighed, closing her eyes.
She imagined he would call a maid to fetch the medicine. She could never have guessed what he was about to do.
(...)
Downstairs.
When Nicholas' imposing figure appeared at the top of the stairs, Enrico, the head butler, immediately approached him, his posture as impeccable as ever.
“Sir,” Enrico greeted him. “Would you like breakfast served now?”
Nicholas didn't even slow down. He shook his head and walked straight through the dining room, heading... for the kitchen.
Enrico blinked, confused, and quickened his pace to follow him.
The kitchen?
Shock was written all over the butler's experienced face. The master never entered the kitchen. It was a territory he avoided, preferring to have everything served at the table.
What was going on?
“Sir?” Enrico called, curiosity overcoming protocol. “Is there something specific you are looking for?”
When Nicholas pushed open the double doors to the kitchen, the organized chaos of the place froze.
The chef, the assistants, and the maids who were preparing breakfast stopped what they were doing. Knives stopped in midair, pots were forgotten. Everyone stared at the door with wide eyes.
President Wolf... in the kitchen?
The air was thick with tension.
What is the boss doing here?
Is this a surprise inspection?
Is someone going to be fired?
Thoughts raced through their minds. They knew that hygiene was impeccable and the ingredients were fresh, but the presence of that powerful figure, dressed in his black silk robe amid the steam and aromas of food, was intimidating. It was like seeing a lion walk into a china shop.
Nicholas, oblivious to the silent panic he had caused, scanned the room with a critical eye, ignoring the petrified employees.
He stopped in the center of the kitchen and asked in his deep, calm voice:
“Do you have any rubber hot water bottles? The kind you fill with hot water?”
The question hung in the air.
The nearest cook, who was holding a ladle, trembled when she realized he was talking to her.
“Y-Yes, sir!” she stammered. “We do.”
Nicholas nodded, serious as if he were closing a million-dollar deal.
“Bring me one. And hot water.”
“Yes, sir! Right away!”
Enrico, who was watching from the doorway, felt his jaw drop.
He saw Nicholas roll up the sleeves of his robe, preparing to handle the hot water bottle himself.
The butler felt a shiver of horror and disbelief.
Mr. Nicholas Wolf, the heir born with a silver spoon in his mouth, whose hands were worth billions and had never touched a sponge or felt the steam from a pot... was he about to perform manual labor?
Not only did he enter the kitchen... was he going to take care of something personally?
The mental image of Nicholas wearing a flowery apron flashed through Enrico's mind, and he shuddered.
The world has turned upside down, thought Enrico, stunned. The master has been bewitched. It can only be that.
“Sir, with all due respect, what do you think you are doing?” Enrico took a step forward, his voice trembling with anxiety. “You could simply order any one of us to do it.”
For the old butler, seeing his respectable and powerful boss stirring pots was a criminal waste. Those hands, with long, elegant fingers, were made for signing billion-dollar contracts, holding crystal goblets, and commanding empires.
Not for boiling water. Not for trivial household chores.
But the moment the words left Enrico's mouth, Nicholas shot him a cold stare, sharp as a razor blade.
Evidently, the President found the interference irritating.
“I told you to get the apron,” Nicholas said, his voice low and dangerous. “The only thing I need from you right now is obedience, not opinions.”
Enrico swallowed hard, feeling the weight of authority. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
He didn't dare say anything else. He ran to the hook on the wall and brought back a pristine apron.
Nicholas took the fabric. With precise movements, he put the apron on over his black silk robe, a sight as incongruous as it was fascinating.
He then turned to the paralyzed staff in the kitchen. “Leave. All of you. I don't need an audience.”
“Yes, sir.”