Chapter 125
When Robert heard that Eleanor had a fever, all his thoughts about wanting her to come keep him company instantly vanished.
Stone City had poor medical facilities. If Eleanor came over and her condition worsened, wouldn't that be his fault?
Although he was selfish, he still felt some pity for Eleanor's "fragile" appearance.
Robert quickly said, "You have a fever? Is it serious? Then don't come! The medical conditions here are terrible. Just rest well at home and focus on getting better."
His tone carried obvious disappointment, but he still tried to comfort her, "Don't worry, I'll try to persuade Father again to let me return to Solaria City sooner to be with you."
Eleanor was secretly delighted, but on the surface, she still acted reluctant and somewhat "brave": "Robert, I'm sorry. It's my body letting me down. Please take good care of yourself there. I'll wait for you to come back."
After coaxing Robert with a few more sweet words, Eleanor finally hung up the phone.
She put down her phone and looked at herself in the mirror—showing no signs of illness, in fact, glowing from careful grooming—and smiled smugly.
There was indeed a packed suitcase at her feet, but it wasn't prepared for going to Stone City.
The day after tomorrow, she was going to Tyumen Resort.
The place where she'd overheard that Olivia and Christopher were about to vacation.
A carefully planned "chance encounter" might change many things.
A gleam of determination and malice flashed in Eleanor's eyes.
Twilight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm orange glow over the bedroom.
Olivia had slept deeply. When she woke, her head was still a bit foggy, as if trapped in soft clouds.
Perhaps from sleeping too long, or perhaps because the blanket was too thick, she felt a thin layer of sweat on her body, uncomfortably sticky.
Olivia threw off the covers and got out of bed. Barefoot on the soft carpet, her steps still somewhat unsteady, she walked into the bathroom.
The warm water washed over her skin, washing away the drowsiness and sweat, and fully waking her up.
She turned off the shower and dried herself with a towel; the bathroom filled with damp, warm steam.
As Olivia reached for the bathrobe hanging on the door, she accidentally stepped on a small puddle of water that hadn't dried.
Her foot slipped, her body instantly lost balance, and with a cry of alarm, she fell hard onto the cold, damp tile floor.
A sharp pain shot through her right ankle, making Olivia gasp. Her eyes reddened from the pain, and she instinctively clutched her injured ankle.
Just then, the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open from outside!
Christopher's tall figure appeared in the doorway, his face showing undisguised concern.
He had come to check if she was awake and needed dinner, but had clearly heard her pained cry.
As soon as the door opened, what met his eyes was Olivia sitting on the floor completely naked, her wet hair clinging to her smooth back, water droplets sliding down the graceful curve of her spine, while she frowned in pain, tightly gripping her right ankle.
"What happened? Did you twist your ankle?"
Christopher's brow furrowed deeply. He strode forward in a few steps, crouched down, and asked urgently, his gaze immediately falling on the ankle Olivia was clutching. His anxious concern seemed even more intense than if he himself had been injured.
Olivia was startled by his sudden entry. When she realized it was him and became aware of her completely naked state, her face flushed bright red.
She hastily used one hand to cover her chest while the other still clutched her ankle, crying out in embarrassment and urgency: "Why did you come in! Get out! Get out now!"
However, Christopher turned a deaf ear to Olivia's embarrassed protests.
His gaze quickly and professionally swept over her slightly reddened ankle. After confirming it was just a sprain with no signs of fracture, he didn't hesitate to extend both arms—one hand sliding under her knees, the other supporting her back—and with a slight effort, lifted her entire body up.
Her body suddenly suspended in the air, Olivia cried out and instinctively wrapped her arms around Christopher's neck.
"Don't move around."
Christopher's voice was low and commanding. Holding Olivia steadily, he walked out of the bathroom and carefully placed her on the soft bed in the bedroom.
Watching her immediately fumble to pull the nearby blanket over herself, wrapping herself tightly with only her flushed face and injured ankle showing, a barely perceptible smile crossed his eyes. Yet his tone was as matter-of-fact as stating a simple truth: "What are you covering up? Is there any part of your body I haven't seen? Isn't it a bit late to be modest now?"
"You're shameless!"
Olivia was exasperated. She pulled the blanket tighter and glared at him irritably, but didn't dare make any big movements because of the pain in her ankle.
Christopher didn't tease her further. He turned and left the bedroom, soon returning with a first-aid kit.
He sat down by the bed again, opened the medicine box, skillfully found ointment for treating bruises and sprains, squeezed some into his palm to warm it, then, without asking, grabbed her slender ankle.
His palm was warm and strong, his calloused fingertips precisely pressing on Olivia's swollen injury, beginning to massage with force.
"It hurts!"
The ointment brought a stimulating coolness, combined with his just-right but unrelenting pressure, making Olivia flinch and nearly cry.
"Bear with it. I need to work out the bruising, otherwise it'll swell even more tomorrow and hurt worse."
Christopher didn't look up, his hands steady and professional, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority, as if he had extensive experience with this.
Olivia looked at his focused profile and his skilled technique, and couldn't help but ask through gasps: "Did you study medicine before?"
"No."
Christopher answered decisively, his hands maintaining their pressure. "I spent a few years in the military before. This kind of basic emergency treatment is standard training."
With his explanation, Olivia suddenly remembered that Robert's father and Christopher had been comrades-in-arms, forging a life-and-death friendship in the heat of battle.
Later, Robert's father was severely injured and paralyzed, becoming a vegetable, and had only passed away a few months ago.
Robert's mother had died early. If it weren't for Christopher taking in Robert—who had lost both parents and faced greedy relatives, as his adopted son out of loyalty to his fallen comrade, providing him protection, Robert's situation would probably have been much more miserable.
Although Christopher was actually only seven years older than Robert, this protection and guidance were real and substantial.
Unfortunately, Robert's abilities were mediocre. Otherwise, after getting engaged to her, he wouldn't have been so easily seduced by Eleanor, leading to such bitter consequences.
Thinking of this, Olivia looked at Christopher's profile as he focused on massaging her foot, her feelings becoming somewhat complicated.