Chapter 23
Cressida trudged into the room. As she reached the bed, she fell her bottom onto it with a soft sigh. “Oh, my,” she muttered. “Listening to that woman drone on about what I’m not doing is exhausting,”
Her gaze drifted to Alaric, who had only looked up from his phone when she entered. She shook her head, frustration etching on her face. “My mind was racing with anger. It’s a waste of my time.”
Alaric dimmed his phone screen and shrugged his left shoulder, his expression empathetic. “Sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice infused with understanding.
A warm smile crept onto his lips as he tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon. It’s just a matter of time, right?”
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” She lifted her left hand, revealing a small pill vial. “Here.”
His brow furrowed in curiosity. “What’s that?”
“Something Amabel gave me. A sleeping pill—she wants me to feed you tomorrow morning so you’ll be out until the evening,” she replied flatly. Her eyes darted to the pill vial before returning to him. “She gave me a tip. You don’t drink coffee, so I should use juice instead,”
She sighed, her gaze locked on his. “And I’m supposed to let the pill dissolve before giving it to you. You know we don’t want you to suspect a thing, and a mistake shouldn’t happen at the last minute.”
“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow morning?” He asked, and she shrugged, responding without hesitation.
“Slip you the pill, just like the commander instructed…”
He giggled at her words, but said nothing. Instead, he watched her proceed.
“Orders are orders, especially when they come from higher up,” she said with a shrug. “I’m just a mindless drone following instructions. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll do exactly as she said.”
Before Alaric could utter a word, she chuckled at her joke.
“Okay, ma,” Alaric said, and his face suddenly twisted with concern. “But wait, was that all she was talking to you about? It’s been over 30 minutes since you left me here.”
“That’s not all, but the rest isn’t important,” she said, her voice measured. She lengthened her hand, throwing the pill vial on the nightstand. “Just the usual questions and her marveling at how efficiently I get things done within a few days,”
“She went on and on about how lucky I am to be part of the family, the fortune I brought with me, how Felix has been closing deals left and right, and the shares the chairman is giving him,” she said, her voice trailing off as she rubbed her temples. “I’m getting a headache, so I don’t remember the rest,”
She rolled her eyes. “You know how she is, always rambling on about nothing just to keep the conversation going,” she lamented. “I wanted to scream from exhaustion, but I had to keep playing along.”
He laid his hand gently on her forehead. “How’s your headache? Do you need some medicine, or are you okay?” He asked with the transparency of concern in his voice.
Before she could answer, he quickly picked up his phone. “Do you have a go-to medication for headaches, or should I ask the pharmacist for a recommendation?”
She shook her head. “No medicine needed,” she said, her voice dismissive. “Her non-stop talking gave me the headache in the first place, and it’s gone now that I’m out of her room.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He doubted. He checked her temperature with the back of his hand on her neck, then nodded.
“Your temperature seems normal, but we should still get you some medicine, just in case,” he quickly returned to typing on his phone. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, so it’s a good idea to take something to help you relax.”
Just as he was about to dial Richard’s contact, she grabbed his hand, halting him with a wry smile spreading across her face. “You think this is stress?” she scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. “If so, what do you call everything I’ve endured since childhood?”
She let go of his hand and shrugged. “Super stress? Stress Pro Max?”
Alaric’s arms fell slack against his thighs, his phone slipping onto the bed as he locked his gaze with hers. “What have you been through?” He asked softly. “What’s your past like?”
“Huh?” She blurted out, taken aback. She hadn’t seen this coming—she had never thought he’d care about her past. Despite having a contractual clause that could deflect his question, she found herself speechless.
At that moment, she felt obligated to open up to him, but her words were stuck, and she could only stare back, frozen.
Their eyes locked, but after a minute of silence, he broke the gaze, his eyes drifting downward. He licked his lips and sighed.
“I-”
Just as she wanted to speak, he cut her off, his gaze snapping back to hers with a gentle smile. “No,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “You don’t owe me any explanations,”
“I shouldn’t have pried—you can share your story when you feel ready and safe with me.” He reprimanded himself with guilt on his face.
“It’s not-” she tried to speak again, but he cut her off once more with a gentle shake of his head.
“I’m not upset,” he said, his voice soft and understanding. “I get that it’s complicated. I sense things are tough for you, and maybe you don’t want to talk or even think about it,”
An assuring smile lit up his face. “I opened up to you when I felt the need to, so I’ll wait for my turn,” he said. “If you ever feel like sharing your story with me, I’m all ears. I promise, no matter how busy life gets, I’ll be here to listen.”
She held his gaze for a few more seconds before nodding. Her lips compressed into a tight line as she nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so we should get some rest early,” he suggested. Noticing her expression, he asked, “Or there’s something else on your mind?”
She shook her head quickly, her face still down, turned, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being honest with him.
“What is it?” He showed interest, his voice open and inviting. “You can tell me anything, everything, whatever. I’m here to listen.”
“Your condition,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her courage to meet his gaze. When she finally looked up, her eyes locked onto his. “I think you’ve given up on treatment. You’re not going to therapy, and no one’s coming to do it for you. Are you even taking your medication?”
He calmly nodded. “Of course I do. Though they are just medicine for recurrent pain.” He confessed.
“Why settle for just that?” She asked, her concern clear. “Shouldn’t you be working towards regaining the ability to walk on your own? Don’t you want to do that again?”
“Who wouldn’t want to?” He said with a snicker. “Of course, I want to walk again, but I’ll focus on that after all this is over,”
“The doctor’s diagnosis isn’t promising. My spinal cord injury is severe, and the chances of recovery are slim,” he explained. “I don’t want to waste time on therapy that might slow me down.”
“But, there’s possible in impossible-” she said, and he interrupted her with a puff.
“Sounds like something a motivational speaker would say,” he muttered, his lips curving into a hint of a smile as he met her gaze. “I know what you’re getting at, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time to explore therapy options right now. I promise I’ll consider it once everything settles down.”
She shook her head firmly, her expression disapproving. “No,” she said, her voice unyielding. Her index finger wagged downward as she gently swayed her head. “You’re starting therapy now, and I don’t care what you think about it. This is what I want, and for your treatment, we’re doing it my way, not yours. Got it?”
Her tone and body language were imposing, exuding an aura of authority and control that left him feeling overpowered. Before he could even plan a response, his head slowly nodded in submission, as if responding to a command.
“Yes…”
Cressida’s eyes widened in surprise. Her assertive tone stunned her, and even more so by his lack of resistance. She had expected at least some argument, but he seemed to agree.
Alaric continued nodding, his head bobbing up and down in a mechanical rhythm as if he’d been programmed to echo her every word. “I’m starting my therapy now, and you don’t care what I think about it…”
“That’s what you want, and for my treatment, we’re doing it your way, not mine.”
Cressida’s eyes slammed shut, and she cleared her throat. But before she could utter a word, Alaric snapped out of his trance-like state. His gaze darted to his phone, which he quickly grabbed, his fingers flying across the screen as he rapidly typed.
“I’ll book an appointment with the doctor.”
“Wait!” she said, and once again, he responded instantly to her directive. He paused, his fingers hovering over the phone’s screen, looking up at her with an expectant gaze, as if expecting her next instruction so he would quickly act on it.
“Who is the doctor, and do you trust him?” She inquired.
“Richard…” he uttered and showed her the contact on his phone screen. “He’s our family doctor and our physiatrist. He works in our hospital.”
“Is he your attending physician?” She investigated.
“No, I have a specialist assigned to me, but Richard handles my appointments and needs to be present during my visits,” he clarified. “As our family doctor, he’s responsible for our overall health, so he keeps everything on file. My medications are also routed through him—the specialist prescribes them, and he delivers them to me.”
She nodded, piecing together the information. “So, Richard knows everyone in this household, right?” She asked.
He nodded, and she pressed for more details. “Does he treat everyone equally, or do you have a closer relationship with him? Did you assist him in getting his job at the hospital, or ever helped him in the past?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m not familiar with his background or how he came to work at the hospital. We don’t know each other,”
“Our interactions are limited to when my chronic pain flares up and I need to see the specialist. That’s the only time we communicate.”
“We’ll find a different doctor, then,” she declared. “We’ll find an alternative. We can’t let him handle your care.”
“Why?” He asked.
She raised her eyebrows, her gaze locked on his face. “Because we can’t trust him.”
“But-” He had an objection, but she cut him off, implying that his opinion didn’t matter.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” she said, her voice firm. “From now on, things are going to get tougher, not easier,”
“Trust me, your recovery may be one of the toughest phases we’ll face to pass, so we must be vigilant. I mean, very vigilant,”
“Every step we take, every word that gets out of our mouths, we must be cautious,”