Chapter 59
Upstairs, Lucinda kicked the guest room door open with her foot and set Reginald down on the bed.
Her breathing was slightly labored, but her expression remained calm.
She moved quickly, opening the medical kit and laying out iodine, gauze, cotton swabs, and a tourniquet with practiced efficiency.
She looked up at Reginald, who lay on the bed. His white shirt was soaked through with blood, dark red stains standing out starkly against the pale fabric.
"Take off your shirt."
Reginald propped himself up, moving slowly, unbuttoning his shirt while watching her.
First button. Second. Third. His fingers were long and elegant, and he unbuttoned each one leisurely, as if deliberately slowing down.
The shirt fell open, revealing a lean, muscular chest. His collarbone was sharply defined. Below that, eight neatly arranged abs lined his torso like they'd been measured with a ruler, each one sharply carved.
Lucinda's gaze lingered for a moment.
Just a moment. But that moment was enough to take in every detail.
Her eyes brightened slightly, like someone spotting a rare piece in a museum.
Her face felt a little warm, but she didn't look away. She looked openly, her gaze traveling from top to bottom, then bottom to top, before finally settling on his face.
Reginald's lips curved slowly upward.
"Like what you see?" His voice was low, tinged with deliberate mischief.
Lucinda looked at him and stayed silent for a second.
"Yes." Her tone was straightforward.
Reginald froze, clearly not expecting such a direct answer.
He opened his mouth to say something, but his ears turned red first.
Lucinda had already lowered her head and started tending to his wound.
She had him lie flat, dipped a cotton swab in iodine, and gently cleaned the skin around the wound.
The injury was just below his shoulder blade, about three centimeters long. Not too deep, but the edges were irregular, as if something sharp had sliced him.
She frowned slightly but said nothing. Her movements were gentle.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"No." Reginald's voice was muffled, coming from the pillow.
His chin rested on his folded arms, his face turned toward her.
From this angle, he could see her lowered lashes, her slightly pursed lips, and those focused eyes.
Her fingers pressed against his back. Her fingertips were cool, carrying the chill of the iodine as she gently wiped around the wound.
That cool sensation spread across his back like an electric current running up his spine. Every muscle in his back tensed.
Lucinda's fingers paused, noticing the change. "Relax."
"Can't." His voice was hoarse.
Lucinda glanced at him but said nothing. She continued her work.
She cleaned the area around the wound, disinfected it with iodine, applied a layer of hemostatic ointment, covered it with gauze, and secured it with medical tape.
Every movement was light and steady. Her heartbeat was a little faster than usual.
"Done." She patted his shoulder and straightened up, tossing the used swabs into the trash. "It's not serious. Just a scrape. Change the dressing once tomorrow, and it'll be fine in three days."
She turned to pack up the medical kit.
The moment she closed the lid, an arm wrapped around her waist from behind.
Reginald had somehow sat up. His shirt was still open, exposing his lean chest and abs.
He pressed his face against her side, tightening his hold. He clung to her like a large dog.
"Don't go." His voice was muffled, carrying a hint of pleading. "I'm hurt. I can't move. You have to stay with me."
Lucinda looked down at the head buried against her side and sighed. "Reginald, you hurt your back, not your legs. You can move."
"Can't." His tone was firm. "It hurts when I move. Really. What am I supposed to do if you leave?"
Lucinda looked at him and stayed silent for two seconds. "What do you want?"
"Sit here." He patted the edge of the bed. "Keep me company. Talk to me."
"I have work to do."
"You're a doctor." He lifted his head, those eyes full of grievance. "The patient comes first. You have to take responsibility for me."
Lucinda's mouth twitched.
She'd stitched him up, prescribed him medication, treated his father, saved his uncle—and now she had to humor him too.
She looked at him. He looked at her. They stared at each other for three seconds.
Lucinda gave in. She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Ten minutes."
"One hour."
"Fifteen minutes."
"Forty-five minutes."
"Twenty minutes. That's final."
Reginald's lips curved into a smile. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Deal."
Lucinda touched the spot he'd kissed and shot him a glare.
Reginald pretended not to notice, rested his head on her shoulder, and closed his eyes contentedly.
The room fell quiet, filled only with the patter of rain outside the window.
Lucinda sat on the edge of the bed, a heavy head resting on her shoulder, thinking: How did this man become the world's richest person? He's so clingy, so good at acting spoiled, so unreasonable—
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out and saw a message from Kenna: [Boss, the documents are urgent. Can you sign them tonight?]
She was about to reply when a hand reached over and took her phone.
Reginald placed her phone on the nightstand, his tone righteous. "The patient needs quiet. Focus on me."
Lucinda looked at her empty hand, then at him. "Reginald."
"Yeah?"
"Did you forget? You're the patient. I'm the doctor."
"Didn't forget." His tone was matter-of-fact. "That's why you should listen to me."
Lucinda took a deep breath and decided not to argue with a 'patient.'
She leaned back against the headboard, letting him rest against her, thinking she'd settle the score once he recovered.
After about ten minutes, she gently nudged his shoulder. "I'm going to get you some water."
Lucinda stood up, walked to the door, and pressed down on the handle.
The door didn't budge.
She tried again. Still nothing.
She crouched down to look at the lock and realized the mechanism had been jammed from the outside.
She turned around and looked at Reginald. "Can your doors be locked from the outside?"
Reginald froze for a moment, then caught on.
The only person who could pull something like this was Hayden.
His lips curved upward. "Maybe… It's broken."
Lucinda looked at the smile he couldn't suppress, then at the door that wouldn't open. She understood everything.
She leaned against the door, arms crossed, and sighed.
Outside the door, Hayden crouched down and pressed his ear against the wood. Hearing the sound of someone trying the handle, his smile deepened so much it could trap a mosquito.
He gave Chase an 'OK' sign and whispered, "Locked tight?"
"Locked tight. Three locks. All secured."
"Good!" Hayden nodded with satisfaction and leaned closer to listen again. "What are they saying?"
"Can't quite hear. Sounds like Mrs. Lancaster said something about getting water—"
"What water?" Hayden panicked. "Why is she getting water at a time like this? What's Reginald doing? Why isn't he keeping her there?"
Chase wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Mr. Hayden Lancaster, maybe… You should take charge personally?"
Hayden thought for a moment, then waved his hand. "Forget it. Kids will figure it out. Anyway, the door's locked. She can't get out. Come on, let's go downstairs for tea."
The two of them tiptoed toward the staircase. After a few steps, Hayden stopped, looked back at the closed door, and whispered, "Chase, tonight, no matter who comes, don't open that door."
"Understood, Mr. Hayden Lancaster."
"Even if the sky falls."
"Understood."
"Even if that brat Reginald begs me himself, don't open it."
Chase hesitated. "What if Mrs. Lancaster gets angry?"
Hayden thought for a moment and waved his hand. "Then definitely don't open it. Wait until she's not angry anymore."
The two of them disappeared down the stairs in a flash.