Chapter 257 – He Was Vulnerable
Ava Anderson's throat was sore, and she nodded with difficulty, barely managing a soft affirmation.
Suddenly, Alexander Mitchell grunted, his body lurching to the side as if he was going to collapse. Ava quickly reached out to steady him.
"I'll help you back to your room. Don't stay here," she said.
Alexander didn't want to worry her and stood up with Ava's support. The two made their way to the room and closed the door behind them, remaining inside for a long time.
The butler glanced towards the door and then left. Once he was alone, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. Soon, he heard a voice, aged yet commanding, answering the call. "How are things going?"
"Mrs. Mitchell, the situation has gotten a bit messy," the butler reported, detailing everything to Scarlett.
Scarlett seemed unruffled by the news, simply acknowledging with a "Mm-hmm, I see."
It appeared Scarlett had anticipated such developments.
"If anything else happens, keep me informed," she instructed.
"Understood, Mrs. Mitchell," the butler responded before hanging up.
Scarlett put the phone aside, leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh, and mused, "Ah, some afflictions require strong medicine."
...
Alexander's back injury looked worse; the bruise was darkening, and he was having trouble walking steadily and nearly couldn't get out of bed.
For dinner, Ava joined Alexander in the bedroom. To stop him from leaning back and aggravating his injury, she opted not to give him a chair with a backrest. Instead, she had him sit at the edge of the bed with the table brought up close, so he had to sit upright.
She sat with him and, to prevent any strain on his back, she served him his food personally.
"Eat up, it'll help you recover," she encouraged.
Alexander stared at his bowl, piled high, and picked up his fork, attempting to spear some food. But before he could, the fork clattered onto the table.
His hands dropped weakly as he let out a soft groan, his brow furrowing slightly – the movement had clearly disturbed his injury, and his face was etched with pain.
"What's wrong? Does the wound hurt again?" Ava quickly set down her own fork.
He nodded. "It hurts. It hurts whenever I move."
He looked at her, his eyes misty with a layer of unshed tears, a touch of vulnerability that was strangely moving.
Alexander Mitchell possessed a stunningly handsome face and a naturally charismatic demeanor. No matter his expression, it never seemed out of place; instead, it added a unique allure to his presence.
His features were irresistible, especially now, injured and pallid, his appearance fraught with vulnerability. Coupled with his pitiable gaze, Ava Anderson couldn't help but lower her guard, not doubting his intentions for a second.
"What should we do? Maybe I should take you to the hospital, let a doctor look at it. Maybe I applied the medication wrong, or the bandage is too tight," Ava Anderson said, her voice laced with urgency.
"It's not your fault," Alexander Mitchell replied, shifting uncomfortably. "My shirt is irritating it; keeps rubbing against the wound."
He was only wearing a white dress shirt on his upper body.
"Then maybe I should take it off," he suggested.
It seemed that was precisely the suggestion Alexander Mitchell had been waiting for.
He nodded, a hint of a frown on his face, and said with a touch of resignation, "Seems like we've got no other choice."
His eyes conveyed a sense of reluctance, as if he didn't want to undress but had no alternative.
He raised his hand to unbutton his shirt but winced in pain with a low grunt, letting his hand fall and exhaling deeply, "It hurts."
