Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Matilda's POV

After listening, Irene nodded and quickly walked to my side, crouching down to carefully pull the thin blanket down over my legs, covering my bare feet. As she did so, she said casually, "Mr. Learmond said the night air is chilly, and you've had a fright. With your foot injured too, you absolutely can't catch a cold."

I froze for a moment, instinctively looking back toward Wellington. His tall frame seemed to stiffen the instant I glanced over, then he turned and walked toward the villa's entrance.

A strange feeling suddenly welled up in my chest—unfamiliar, impossible to put into words. It was like a tart, fizzy drink with just a hint of sweetness. He'd thought of even these little details?

"Matilda! Are you okay? You scared me to death!" A tearful voice interrupted my thoughts. Kerena came running out of the villa. She was moving so fast that her thin robe had slipped off her shoulder, exposing delicate skin and her elegant collarbone.

She rushed straight to my wheelchair and grabbed my hands, looking me up and down. "I heard the elevator malfunctioned! Are you alright? What happened to your foot? Is it serious?"

Seeing that she seemed to have returned to normal and her emotions had stabilized, I breathed a sigh of relief and shook my head with a forced smile. "I'm fine, Kerena. I just twisted my ankle. Don't worry."

Only then did Kerena seem to relax. Then her gaze moved past me to Wellington, who had stopped a short distance away. She immediately let go of my hands and hurried over to him, reaching up to take his arm. "Mr. Learmond! Are you alright? I heard about the elevator, too. It must have been terrifying! Are you hurt? Should we call a doctor to check you over?"

I don't know if it was my imagination, but I felt like Wellington was deliberately avoiding her touch. He quickly withdrew his arm from Kerena's grasp. He raised his hand, pointing toward the door, and said to Kerena, "I'm fine. You haven't fully recovered yet. Don't stand in the draft. Go inside."

Kerena smiled and responded, "Okay, thank you for your concern."

She turned around, walked behind my wheelchair, and helped Uma push me up the steps. Then, walking shoulder to shoulder with Wellington behind me, she continued in a soft voice, "Mr. Learmond, thank goodness you were there to take care of Matilda today. She's so timid—she must have been terrified. Please take care of yourself, too. You just got over your fever not long ago."

I listened to Kerena's gentle, caring words behind me, and though Wellington didn't say much, he responded to each comment. That strange feeling that had just begun to stir because of Wellington's care gradually settled back down.

See? He cared about Kerena, too. He reminded her to take care of herself. His actions today were only because I'd been threatened by Caspian. Nothing more.

With that thought, the tension inside me finally eased a bit, but at the same time, a sense of loss I didn't want to examine too closely began to spread.

Uma wheeled me up to the second floor. As we passed the master bedroom door, Wellington, who'd been walking behind us, suddenly stopped. "She's not staying in the master bedroom?" he asked.

My heart tightened. I was about to explain when Kerena stepped forward first, her voice soft and explanatory. "Mr. Learmond, Matilda said the master bedroom was too big. She felt a bit insecure staying there alone, so she asked to switch with me. I thought since my injuries were more severe and I needed a quieter, more spacious environment, I didn't argue with her. I'm so sorry to have troubled you."

Listening to Kerena's explanation, I felt like something was off. It was true that I'd given her the room, but the reason was out of sympathy and guilt for what she'd been through. But remembering how she'd broken down crying this afternoon, I swallowed the explanation on the tip of my tongue and let her version stand.

Wellington listened, his gaze sweeping between Kerena and me. In the end, he said nothing, just gave a faint acknowledgment, then said to Kerena, "Go to your room. I need to talk to you about something."

Kerena quickly nodded. "Of course, Mr. Learmond. This way, please."

I watched as Wellington and Kerena walked one after the other toward the master bedroom. The door closed firmly behind them, and my chest felt like something had bumped against it lightly—a dull, uncomfortable sensation.

Uma wheeled me into the guest room, where John was already waiting with his medical bag. The process of treating my foot injury was somewhat lengthy. Though John's technique was professional, it was inevitably painful. But I was distracted, my gaze drifting repeatedly toward the closed master bedroom door.

Questions I couldn't control kept floating through my mind. What were they talking about in there? Would they be talking for a long time? Was their relationship closer than I'd realized, close enough to have conversations in such an intimate space as a bedroom?

'No, Matilda, what are you thinking? This isn't something you should be worrying about!'

But why couldn't I stop myself?

A sudden increase in pressure on my ankle made me cry out and snap back to attention. 

"Spacing out?" John paused, pushed up his glasses, and looked at me with an almost-smile. "You seem pretty concerned about what Wellington and Ms. Williams might be discussing alone."

My face flushed hot, and I quickly denied it. "No! My foot just hurts a little."

John smiled but didn't press further. As he continued bandaging, he said, almost as if talking to himself, "Actually, men's minds can be just as complicated as women's sometimes. All that guessing just makes things messier. For some things, instead of overthinking them, it's better to find an opportunity and just ask directly. Of course, whether to ask, and how to ask—that's a whole different skill set."

His rambling comment left me stunned. I instinctively muttered in protest, "How are women's minds complicated? Dr. Kramer, that's a gender stereotype."

John laughed at my response. He finished the last wrap and tied off the bandage. Then he suddenly reached out and tapped my forehead lightly with his knuckle. I covered my forehead, looking at him in confusion.

"You've never been in a relationship, have you?"

His question caught me off guard. My face turned even redder, and I stammered, "No, I haven't. But what does that have to do with anything?"

John shook his head, picked up his medical bag, and walked to the door. He turned back to look at me one more time, his expression meaningful. "Some things you'll only understand once you've experienced them yourself. Alright, get some rest. Don't move that foot around."

With that, he closed the door and left. The room fell quiet again. I carefully shifted my body and pulled the covers over myself. My ankle was still throbbing and swollen, but my attention had wandered off again. John's parting words kept echoing in my head.

"Instead of guessing, just ask?"

"Inexplicable," I muttered to the empty air.