Music Rec.: Dasha – Austin (Boots Stop Workin')
Soft rays of sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The light slowly crept across the bed, illuminating the tangled sheets and the figure lying in them.
Eira stirred and shifted before letting out a comfortable hum as she turned on her side to the right. She snuggled into the soft sheets beneath her and smiled faintly then one of her hands brushed against something warm and solid. Her smile faltered, and her brows furrowed in confusion. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, the grogginess of sleep still clouding her mind.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision. What she saw made her heart almost fly out of her chest.
A pair of violet eyes, illuminated by the sun, stared at her coldly, their gemstone-like brilliance catching the light in shades of purple, silver, and gold. But the warmth that was there before was gone, replaced by a distant, unreadable expression, as if all emotion had drained from him.
Lyle's gaze was detached, indifferent, his face devoid of any softness or familiarity. Eira's breath caught in her throat as she continued to stare, her hand still on his cheek.
Her pulse quickened as she locked eyes with him, confusion setting in. The violet eyes that once burned with overpowering warmth and possessiveness were now cold, lifeless, like glass reflecting the sunlight without warmth. His expression remained utterly detached, as if she were a stranger lying beside him.
Eira's hand trembled on his cheek, and she quickly withdrew it, her body hurriedly pulling away and turning to the sidetable where she picked up the night lamp and hurled it towards him. However, she was slow compared to him.
Without flinching, he held her hand that descended towards him and threw it aside effortlessly. But Eira didn't stop, the anger from yesterday erupted when he stared at her like she was nothing.
After practically abducting her yesterday and making her feel after practically abducting her, making her feel trapped and almost helpless—a feeling she'd never felt even when her 8-year-old self was on the streets begging for food or even when they caught her stealing. And now...now the bastard was staring at her as if she was nothing?
She hated that stare, hated it so fucking much! And the fact that it was coming from him somehow made it even worse. Thɪs chapter is updated by N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt
Eira's rage boiled over, and she swung again, this time with her fist. But once again, Lyle caught her wrist effortlessly, and turned over, now leaning over her. His grip firm but not painful. His expression didn't change—no flicker of emotion crossed his face. It was as if he was merely dealing with a minor inconvenience.
"Let go!" she spat, trying to yank her arm free, but Lyle held her in place, his gaze unwavering and disturbingly calm.
Without a word, he released her wrist and climbed out of bed. It was then she registered that he was shirtless with only a
pair of loose-fitting black pants on, his lean, muscular frame illuminated by the morning light. Eira sat up quickly, her heart still racing, anger and confusion warring within her. She couldn't reconcile the indifferent man before her with the possessive one from the night before.
Then her eyes went to his torso where there was supposed to be a bandage.
Eira's eyes widened as she noticed Lyle's torso, where the bandages that had wrapped his wounds were nowhere to be seen. The deep gashes that should have been healing were gone—completely vanished as if they had never been there. His skin was smooth and unblemished, glowing faintly in the morning light.
"What the—" Eira started, her voice catching in her throat. How is that possible?
Lyle, indifferent to her shock, turned his back, revealing a tattoo of a skull with hollow eyes and an open mouth. A snake coiled through the skull, entering one cheek and emerging from an empty eye socket, while flowers bloomed around it. His muscles shifted beneath his skin as he walked calmly to the window, moving with a different ease and grace from before, as if the events of the previous day had been wiped away, just like his injuries.
Eira's heart raced, confusion layering over her anger. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, her voice shaky but firm. "Your wounds...! Where the hell did they go?"
Lyle turned slightly, just enough to meet her gaze with that same cold, detached expression. His violet eyes glinted in the sunlight, reflecting no hint of concern or acknowledgment of her words.
"They healed," he said in a voice that was as calm as ever.
The cryptic response sent a chill down her spine, and for the second time since meeting him, genuine fear mixed with her anger. Who the hell is this guy?
Eira clenched her fists, her mind racing to make sense of what she was seeing.
The old woman had said her boss was ill, maybe the illness had something to do with his personality. But no illness could make a human's body heal deep wounds overnight!
Come to think of it, she'd not taken note of it yesterday, but his wounds were deep but they didn't bleed and he was even moving perfectly! Normally, a person with such injuries would lie in bed for a week or more. Then, how–?
"You're wearing my clothes." a low voice came from the front of the bed and she looked up at him staring at her body, or was it the clothes?
Eira's confusion momentarily paused as she glanced down at herself, only now realizing that the t-shirt had ridden high—probably during their scuffle—exposing her stomach and waist. Hurriedly, she sat up and glared at the perpetrator whose gaze was still on her clothes. Then, one side of his lips curved up into a cold smile.
Only then did she remember that the shirt smelled like a faint mix of cedarwood and something else she couldn't place.
She'd overlooked a lot of things yesterday, hadn't she?
Just as she opened her mouth to tell him not to stare at her, a knock came from the door.
"Master Lyle? Are you awake?"
Lyle's gaze flickered toward the door, his expression still cold and unreadable. He didn't answer immediately, and Eira's heart pounded in the brief silence that followed.
Master? Eira's thoughts raced again, the title adding another layer to the enigma surrounding him. Who exactly is this man?
Without a word to her, Lyle stepped away from the window and approached the door, his movements smooth and controlled, like a predator that had everything in its sights. He paused just before opening it, glancing over his shoulder at Eira.
Before she could say anything, again, he opened the door just wide enough to speak with whoever was on the other side. Eira strained to listen, her ears pricking up as she caught fragments of the conversation.
"Good morning, Master Lyle." the butler bowed, "Miss Jania has brought Doctor Liam to the mansion and they're downstairs, awaiting your presence."
Doctor Liam? Is it the same Doctor Liam?!
Lyle opened the door wider and stepped out, walking away. "Call Jania to my room and inform Liam that I'm coming." he paused, "Get her ready."
"Yes, Master." The butler nodded and bowed, understanding that he didn't want anyone with him.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Eira sat up fully, her pulse still racing. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, none of which she had answers to.
It seems that the guy was really Doctor Liam's patient.
Eira quickly got out of bed, feeling a sudden urgency to get her bearings before Lyle—or anyone else—returned. Her feet hit the cold wooden floor as she made her way to the couch where she dropped her phone last night which was next to her bag
She picked up her phone, opened her bag, and rummaged through, bringing out her charger some moments later.
Alright, where can she charge?
Eira's eyes scanned the room quickly, searching for an outlet.
She was so stupid, she should have charged it last night and called Elma. The old lady must be worried sick.