Chapter 245 Thomas Didn't Leave

Chapter 245 Thomas Didn't Leave

Gavin winced in pain, freezing mid-motion. He spun around, grimacing.

When he saw it was Matilda holding the broom, his expression went completely rigid.

The courtyard fell deathly silent.

The woman on the ground scrambled to her feet, clutching her swollen face. She jabbed her finger at Gavin, screaming: "Can't keep up the act anymore, can you? You bastard! Just wait till I sue you in court!"

Gavin didn't spare the woman a second glance. All he cared about was making sure Matilda didn't misunderstand. He rushed toward her, reaching out to grab her arm.

Matilda took a step back.

Gavin's hand hung frozen in midair. His face crumpled into an expression of wounded innocence.

"Matilda, let me explain! This isn't what you think!" Gavin pointed at the woman on the ground, words tumbling out in a rush. "This crazy woman is slandering me! Every word out of her mouth is a lie! She made the whole thing up! I don't owe her any money—you have to believe me!"

Matilda studied his face, finding it almost laughable.

Just minutes ago, that same face had worn a warm smile as he handed her a red rose.

Now, every feature screamed dishonesty.

She tossed the broom aside and brushed the dust off her hands.

"Whether she's lying or not, I don't care." Matilda's voice was unnervingly calm, without a ripple of emotion. "Whether that three hundred thousand is real or fake has nothing to do with me either."

Gavin blinked, thinking she believed him. He quickly added, "Right, right, it has nothing to do with us. We'll just ignore this crazy woman."

"Let me ask you something." Matilda cut him off. "What were you about to do just now?"

Gavin froze, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Were you about to kick her in the stomach?" Matilda pointed at the woman on the ground, her voice cold as ice.

The one thing she despised most was men who laid hands on women.

No matter what the grievance, men who resorted to violence were nothing but animals at their core.

Gavin's face flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead. He scrambled to explain.

"I just lost my head for a second!" Gavin tried to pin all the blame on the woman. "Matilda, you have no idea how difficult this woman is. She came here to make a scene, spreading lies about me right in front of you. I was afraid you'd misunderstand, so I lost control of my temper for a moment. I'm never like this normally—you've spent the past few days with me, don't you know what kind of person I am?"

Matilda let out a cold laugh, disgusted even to look at him.

"I really don't know what kind of person you are." Matilda brushed past him, heading straight for the stairs. "But there's no need to find out anymore."

Panic flashed across Gavin's face as he hurried after her.

"Stay away from me." Matilda stopped on the stairs, looking down at him from above. "If I catch you hitting someone again, I'm calling the police. You can test whether Meadowbrook City cops care about this kind of thing or not."

Her words nailed him in place. He could only watch helplessly as Matilda climbed to the second floor.

"Matilda!" Gavin shouted her name.

Matilda walked into her room, shut the door behind her, and locked it.

Urgent knocking came from outside.

"Matilda, open the door! Just hear me out!" Gavin pounded on the door. "She's a con artist! She scammed me out of my money and then turned it around on me! I didn't lie to you—can we please just talk this through?"

Matilda leaned against the door, eyes closed, brow furrowed in irritation.

The voice outside continued.

"Matilda, don't believe her! My feelings for you are real!"

Matilda walked to the bed, picked up the glass of water on the nightstand, and took a sip to settle the nausea churning in her stomach.

The knocking went on for over ten minutes before finally stopping.

She heard Gavin's frustrated footsteps, followed by the sound of him descending the stairs.

The room fell quiet again.

Matilda sat on the edge of the bed, watching the sky outside gradually darken.

The past few days had been absolutely absurd.

First Thomas showed up sick and desperate, then Gavin revealed himself to be a complete fraud.

She'd come to Meadowbrook City for peace and quiet, only to get tangled up in one mess after another.

The most terrifying part? She'd spent days with Gavin without seeing through him.

Just then, her stomach let out an untimely growl.

Matilda grabbed her phone and wallet, unlocked the door, and headed downstairs to find somewhere to eat.

The courtyard was empty. Gavin had disappeared somewhere.

Matilda left the inn and wandered aimlessly down the small street.

Meadowbrook City came alive at night—street vendors lined the sidewalks, and brightly lit restaurants beckoned from every corner.

Matilda didn't have much of an appetite. She picked a restaurant that looked relatively clean and walked inside.

But the moment she reached the ordering counter, she spotted a familiar figure.

The man stood at the counter, several takeout containers in hand, speaking to the restaurant owner in a low voice.

"It has to be bland—no oil at all, and go easy on the salt. The patient has a sensitive stomach and can't handle anything too strong."

That voice was all too familiar.

Matilda stopped in her tracks.

What was Brent doing here?

Brent finished giving instructions to the owner and was about to leave when he came face-to-face with Matilda, who stood just a few steps away.

Brent went rigid.

"Mrs. Stuart—" The words slipped out before he could stop them. He quickly corrected himself. "Ms. Beaufort, what a coincidence. You're here for dinner too?"

Matilda didn't bother with pleasantries. Her gaze dropped to the takeout bag in Brent's hand.

The bag bore the restaurant's logo and contained several insulated containers—clearly the bland, easily digestible food he'd just been so particular about.

"Who's that for?" Matilda fixed her eyes on Brent's face.

Brent let out an awkward laugh, shifting the bag behind his back.

"No one special. It's for me. My stomach's been bothering me lately, so I wanted something light."

Matilda took a step forward, closing the distance.

"Brent, you're nowhere near as good a liar as Thomas." Matilda wasn't buying it for a second. "He never left, did he?"

Brent's smile collapsed completely.

His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Thomas had made him promise—absolutely, under no circumstances, could Matilda find out he was still in Meadowbrook City. And she definitely couldn't know about his current condition.

Yet here he was, caught red-handed just picking up food.

"Didn't he check out and leave?" Matilda's voice rose a notch, anger flaring up again. "What's he trying to pull? The pity act didn't work, so he's taking it on the road?"

Brent sighed, realizing there was no point in hiding it anymore.

"Ms. Beaufort, Mr. Stuart..." Brent hesitated, then told her the truth. "He didn't go far. He's at a hotel on the other side of town. He started throwing up after coming back from the market this afternoon, then spiked a high fever. He refuses to go to the hospital and won't go back to Harmony City either. A doctor came by and said he's having a flare-up of acute gastritis, combined with severe exhaustion. He needs complete bed rest."

Matilda's fists clenched.

"His refusal to go to the hospital has nothing to do with me." Matilda's expression hardened as she turned to leave.

"Ms. Beaufort!" Brent called after her, a note of pleading in his voice. "Mr. Stuart hasn't eaten anything all day. He won't even take his medication. Could you please go see him?"

He thought appealing to her this way might soften her heart, that she'd come with him.

Instead, Matilda walked away without a backward glance.

Brent watched her retreating figure and let out a quiet sigh.

He'd hoped to use this as an opportunity to help them reconcile.

Thomas was sick as a dog and refusing to leave—wasn't it all for her sake?

But she clearly didn't care about him at all.

Brent picked up the takeout containers, preparing to head back to the hotel. Thomas was going to have his work cut out for him winning Matilda back.

Just as he turned around, footsteps sounded behind him.

Brent looked back.

Matilda had somehow doubled back and now stood a few steps away.

"Lead the way."

Brent stood frozen for two seconds before quickly nodding. "Of course! Ms. Beaufort, this way."

The hotel wasn't far.

Brent swiped the room key, and the door opened to a heavy medicinal smell.

The main lights were off—only a dim bedside lamp cast a yellowish glow.

Matilda walked inside.

A figure lay in the bed.

Thomas's usual polished, corporate-executive appearance had vanished. Now he looked utterly haggard.

He lay buried under the covers, eyes closed, cheeks flushed with an unhealthy fever-red. His lips were bloodless, and a damp cloth rested on his forehead to bring down his temperature.

Brent set the food containers on the table and spoke in a low voice. "Mr. Stuart threw up several times this afternoon—even brought up stomach acid. The doctor gave him fever-reducing injections and medication, but the fever won't break."

Matilda stared at the face on the bed, saying nothing.

"The doctor said it's exhaustion combined with acute gastritis. The fever just has to run its course." Brent glanced at Matilda, his tone turning almost beseeching. "Ms. Beaufort, I've got a pile of urgent documents waiting for me at the office. I really can't be in two places at once. Would you mind staying here and keeping an eye on him for a bit? If he wakes up, try to get him to drink some soup."

Matilda's brow furrowed.

But Brent didn't give her a chance to refuse. He headed straight for the door.

"I really appreciate it, Ms. Beaufort!"

The door clicked shut, leaving the room in complete silence.

Matilda stood beside the bed, looking down at Thomas's pale face.

He was insane.

His body was falling apart, yet he'd dragged himself to that market and stayed there for hours.

She walked over, removed the cloth from his forehead, went to the bathroom to rinse it in cold water, wrung it out, and placed it back on his forehead.

The cool sensation made Thomas instinctively furrow his brow.

His head shifted slightly, his lips moving as he mumbled something incoherent.

Matilda couldn't make it out. She leaned closer.

She heard him say:

"Matilda."

Thomas's voice was terribly hoarse, with a nasal quality to it.

Matilda's movements stilled.

"Don't go." Thomas's brow remained tightly knit. His hand fumbled outside the covers, then suddenly latched onto Matilda's wrist.

His palm burned against her skin.

Matilda tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Don't leave me." Thomas kept his eyes closed, his voice low and ragged, carrying a vulnerability and plea she'd never heard from him before. "I was wrong."

Matilda stood frozen in place.

Back in Harmony City, he'd always been the one calling the shots—commanding, powerful, always in control.

When had he ever apologized to anyone? Much less in such a defeated, humble tone?