Chapter 24
Lucinda pushed through the door, still in her surgical scrubs, the brim of her cap revealing a delicate forehead beaded with a thin sheen of sweat.
"He's fine now." Her voice was calm. "Keep him under observation for two more days. During recovery, watch his diet. No more eating random things."
Nash followed her out, his face unable to hide his admiration. "Ms. Wipere's skill—I've truly seen something remarkable today. That blocked vessel was in such a tricky location. Anyone else would have needed at least three hours. You resolved it in forty minutes, and the blood loss was practically zero."
Rhys stood at the end of the corridor, listening. His expression shifted from disdain to disbelief.
Reginald stood before Lucinda, looking at the faint sheen of sweat beneath her cap brim. He fell silent for a moment.
Barney hurried over, eyes still red, grabbing her hand and thanking her repeatedly before finally letting go.
Reginald stood to the side, gaze fixed on her face. He said nothing, but his eyes never left her.
Barney glanced at Lucinda, then followed his nephew's line of sight.
The moment he did, his heart sank.
He'd originally planned to invite Lucinda to dinner with his son, hoping to introduce them.
But now, seeing the way Reginald was looking at her...
When had Reginald ever looked at anyone like that in his entire life?
His gaze was glued to her face, impossible to pry away—and he didn't even seem aware of it.
Barney sighed inwardly.
He'd better not waste his efforts.
"Ms. Wipere." He cleared his throat, tone more serious than before. "My brother's illness won't improve overnight. In a few days, I'll have to trouble you to come back and help adjust his medication. He's older now, his health is fragile—I'm not comfortable relying solely on conventional treatment."
He deliberately glanced at Reginald, his hint practically dripping from his gaze. "Right, Reginald?"
Reginald met Barney's eyes, expression unchanged, voice steady. "Yes. Thank you for the trouble, Ms. Wipere."
Lucinda nodded. "I'll follow up."
Barney's smile deepened, the crow's feet at his eyes bunching together.
He looked between the two of them, his grin impossible to suppress. "Good, good. Ms. Wipere, it's already dark out. Let Reginald drive you home. A young woman out alone at night—it's not safe."
"No need, I can—"
"I should." Reginald had already picked up his car keys. "Let's go."
Lucinda glanced at him and didn't refuse again.
The two walked out of the nursing home, one after the other.
The night breeze hit them head-on, carrying the coolness of early autumn. Lucinda instinctively hunched her shoulders slightly.
She'd dressed lightly when she left home. The auction hall had been heated, so she hadn't felt cold. But now, standing outside for a moment, goosebumps prickled along her arms.
Reginald walked beside her. From the corner of his eye, he noticed, but said nothing. His pace quickened as he strode ahead to the car and opened the back door. "Get in. It's cold out here."
Lucinda bent down and slid inside. The door closed, shutting out the wind.
The car's heater was on, the temperature just right. The seat warmers were also running—the cushion soft and warm.
She leaned back against the seat and let out a quiet breath.
The car pulled out of the nursing home and retraced the route back.
Inside, it was quiet.
The driver kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. Reginald sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing at his phone to handle a few messages.
In the back, Lucinda tilted her head toward the window, the streetscape casting alternating light and shadow across her face.
The car stopped at a red light.
Lucinda's gaze fell outside.
On the sidewalk, there was a small stall selling plush toys.
The stand was covered with stuffed animals of all sizes—fluffy little bears, rabbits in dresses, and a small fox wearing a crooked hat.
The night breeze blew past, making the plushies sway gently under the warm yellow streetlights, looking especially soft.
She looked at that little fox, and the light in her eyes softened.
When she was small, her grandmother had taken her to the market. There'd been stalls like this one.
Her grandmother would pull out crumpled bills from a handkerchief, buy a little plush toy, and press it into her hands, saying, "My Cindy is the best. Grandma's giving you a reward."
Those toys were cheap, the fabric rough, threads sticking out—but she'd held them while she slept for a long time, until the fabric pilled and the stuffing started poking out. Still, she couldn't bear to throw them away.
Later, after she went to the Wipere family, no one ever bought her things like that again.
"So cute," she murmured softly, as if speaking to herself.
The car started moving again.
Reginald glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
She was still looking out the window, but the little fox plush had already receded into the distance as the car moved forward.
Her gaze lingered in that direction, her face touched with a tender nostalgia.
"Pull over for a moment," Reginald said suddenly.
The driver froze, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Lancaster?"
"Pull over."
The driver didn't dare ask questions. He turned on the signal and pulled to the side.
Reginald pushed open the car door and stepped out, striding toward the sidewalk.
He wore a dark gray coat, his tall frame standing out sharply amid the night market crowd.
When he reached the stall, he suddenly stopped.
He stood there, looking at the fully stocked display, his brow furrowing slightly.
Buying plush toys—he'd never done this in his life.
The vendor looked up and saw this tall, stern-faced man. He hesitated, instinctively shrinking back. "Sir, which one do you want?"
Reginald's gaze swept across the plushies before finally settling on the little fox with the crooked hat.
He reached out, lifted it off the hook, and held it in his hand, inspecting it.
The craftsmanship wasn't refined. The fur was a bit rough. But it was surprisingly soft to the touch.
He turned it over a few times and suddenly noticed a few loose threads on the fox's hat. Instinctively, he pinched them with his fingers, trying to remove them. But the more he fiddled, the worse it got—the threads unraveled a bit.
His frown deepened.
The vendor couldn't take it anymore and said cautiously, "Um... sir, would you like me to get you a different one?"
"No need." He pulled out his wallet and handed over a bill.
The vendor fumbled to make change. Reginald held the little fox plush in his hand, glanced down at the unraveled threads once more, but ultimately didn't exchange it.
"Keep the change." He turned and walked back.
The driver sat in the driver's seat. Through the rearview mirror, he watched his boss stride back holding a stuffed animal, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He'd worked for Reginald for eight years. He'd seen him dominate the business world, obliterate opponents with a single sentence, turn down billion-dollar projects with a blank face.
But he'd never seen him buy a plush toy.
Reginald opened the car door—this time sitting in the back with Lucinda.
He held the plush out directly in front of her. "For you."
The driver nearly threw the steering wheel.
Did he hear that right? Mr. Lancaster actually bought something like this for someone?
Lucinda looked down. It was that little fox from the roadside stall.
She instinctively wanted to refuse, but her gaze lingered on the plush for an extra second.
Unbidden, memories surfaced—her grandmother buying her plushies from the market when she was small.
The words on her lips were swallowed. She reached out and took it.
When her fingertips brushed Reginald's palm, they both paused.
Reginald's gaze fell on her fingertips. His eyes darkened.
Lucinda looked up at him.
His eyes were deep. Right now, they were fixed on her, and the usual icy aloofness that kept people at arm's length was replaced by an unexpected tenderness.
Her face inexplicably felt warm.
"Thank you."
She withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and placed the little fox plush on her lap, fingers resting on the brim of its hat. She sat still.