Chapter 42
It was only then that I belatedly realized - when making the reservation, I'd only noticed "private" and "great view," but missed the small label in the room type column: "Lovers' Whispers."
What a mistake.
I sat down at the table somewhat awkwardly, wondering if I should switch rooms, when Benjamin arrived.
He pushed the door open, still in his well-tailored dark suit, standing tall with a commanding presence.
But I noticed something was off almost immediately.
His complexion seemed paler than usual. Though his gait was still steady, a closer look revealed an almost imperceptible stiffness in his left arm's movement.
"What's wrong?" I stood up, brows furrowing. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine." He responded flatly, sitting down across from me. His eyes swept over the roses and candles on the table, a barely noticeable flash of surprise crossing them, but he said nothing.
The more nonchalant he acted, the heavier my suspicions grew.
"The contract details - the lawyer has sent them to your email." His voice had its usual low tone, but seemed to lack some of its usual strength.
I looked at him without responding, just asked directly: "Are you hurt?"
Benjamin's movement paused. He looked up at me, and in those eyes that were usually so calm, a rare hint of helplessness flickered.
He was about to deny it when Luca, who had followed him in, blurted out carelessly.
"Ms. White, don't worry. Mr. Wilson just has a minor scrape on his arm. It's been treated. Mr. Wilson insisted on coming..."
"Luca." Benjamin cut him off coldly.
Luca immediately shut his mouth, lowering his head with a regretful look, not daring to say another word.
But I'd already heard the key information.
"What happened?" My voice turned cold, my gaze locked tightly on Benjamin with uncompromising scrutiny.
Benjamin seemed to know he couldn't hide it anymore. After a moment of silence, he explained casually: "A small incident on the road. To avoid a child who suddenly ran into the street, the car scraped against the guardrail. Nothing serious."
He said it so lightly, but I instantly imagined that terrifying scene, a chill of fear running up my spine.
I stood up abruptly, walked around the table, and went straight to his side.
"Roll up your sleeve. Let me see." My tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
Benjamin looked at me, seemingly surprised by my forceful attitude. Our eyes met. His deep gaze held complex emotions, but in the end, he chose to comply.
He silently unbuttoned his suit cuff and slowly rolled up his shirt sleeve.
Under the white shirt, from his wrist to his forearm, was a shocking sight of scrapes and bruises. Some spots were seeping blood, only simply bandaged with gauze. The edges of the gauze had been soaked through with blood, stained dark red.
My breath caught sharply.
This was "nothing serious"? This was a "minor scrape"?
An inexplicable anger suddenly burned up from the bottom of my heart. I didn't even realize my voice was trembling slightly.
"This is what you call treated? Benjamin, do you think your body is made of iron?"
I almost instinctively reached out to touch the wound, but my fingertips stopped just before touching his skin, afraid of hurting him.
He watched my hand suspended in mid-air, watched the worry and anger in my eyes that I couldn't hide in time. His expression shifted slightly.
"Ophelia White," he suddenly spoke, calling my full name, his voice low and clear. "You're worried about me."
He used a statement, not a question.
I was caught off guard by his words, my heartbeat skipping a beat. The emotions churning inside me were too unfamiliar, leaving me unsure how to respond.
But Benjamin seemed to see through my embarrassment. He turned his hand and gently grasped my suspended hand with his uninjured one.
His palm was dry and warm, carrying a reassuring strength.
"Don't worry," he looked into my eyes, saying word by word, "I'm really fine."
However, just as he finished speaking, Luca, as if finally finding a chance to make up for his mistake, added quietly: "The doctor said it would be best to go to the hospital for an X-ray to check if the bone is injured, but Mr. Wilson refused..."
Luca's words became the final match that lit the fuse.
I suddenly pulled my hand back, then grabbed his uninjured arm with a force that surprised even myself.
"Go to the hospital."
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried an uncompromising determination.
Benjamin froze, probably never having seen me so out of control yet forceful.
I didn't care about his reaction. I pulled him toward the exit, throwing a line at the dumbfounded waiter and Luca at the door.
"Now. Immediately."
In the corridor outside the restaurant, Luca and the waiter looked at each other, neither daring to step forward.
I grabbed Benjamin's arm, practically half-dragging him into the elevator.
The elevator doors closed, reflecting our confrontational figures.
He was tall and calm, while I was like a cat with its fur standing on end.
"Go to the hospital, do you hear me?" I looked up at him, repeating myself, the tension in my voice feeling foreign even to me.
Benjamin didn't move, letting me grip his arm.
He looked down at me, and in those usually unfathomable eyes, an extremely faint smile now rippled, as if he found my current state amusing.
"Ophelia," he suddenly spoke, his voice lower than usual, carrying a barely noticeable hoarseness. "What if I said I don't want to go to the hospital, I just want to have lunch with you?"
I was stunned by his ill-timed question. My anger deflated like a punctured balloon.
He watched my dazed expression, the curve of his lips deepening. With his uninjured hand, he covered the back of my hand, prying my fingers open one by one without allowing refusal, then interlacing them with his.
"Sorry," he said softly, "I ruined your carefully prepared lunch."
My face flushed instantly.
Carefully prepared? That overly romantic "Lovers' Whispers" room had become irrefutable evidence against me.
I opened my mouth, wanting to explain it was just a mistake, but facing those eyes that seemed to see through everything, I didn't know where to start.
He seemed quite satisfied with my flustered appearance. He pulled my hand and turned to press another elevator button.
"Where are we going?" I was confused. "Aren't we going to the hospital?"
"Making up for your lunch." He was brief and to the point.