Chapter 51 Don't You Have a Heart?
Boom—!
A heavy thud echoed from behind.
Harper hesitated before glancing back.
The man's tall figure lay rigid on the ground, unmoving.
A moment of dread washed over Harper.
She looked at her hands in disbelief. How could she possess such strength?
Running away would be the logical choice.
However, emotion overcame reason, and Harper quickly stepped closer to the man.
His usually commanding face was now sickly pale and dotted with sweat.
She nudged him gently, "Francis... Francis..."
No response.
Panic took hold of Harper as tears streamed down her face. She touched his cheek, "Francis, what's wrong with you? Wake up, don't scare me..."
She crouched to lift him, but a sticky sensation on the back of her neck stopped her.
The smell of blood grew more intense. She looked at her hand—
It was stained red with blood!
The blood... came from that stick...
She fought back the urge to vomit and stood up to call for help, "Somebody, help!"
Wesley rushed in and stopped short at the sight of the man on the floor.
The next second, he composed himself and commanded, "Get Professor Cane here."
Soon after, Francis was wheeled into the emergency room.
Harper stood outside, waiting, her heart in agony as though it was being fried.
Tears fell ceaselessly, impossible to stop.
He was bleeding so much that his neck was soaked. 'How had I not noticed...'
A wave of frustration, regret, and guilt washed over her.
'I should have seen it...’
'His embrace wasn't as brisk as usual, and the silence in the car was only due to his discomfort.’
'Yet I was lost in my own world, utterly oblivious to him.’
'Nor did I consider whether the stick that hit him had caused any pain...'
She smacked her head in frustration.
"Harper, you're so selfish!"
It felt like an eternity had passed before the operating room doors finally swung open.
Wesley emerged, and Harper rushed to him immediately.
"Professor Wesley, how's Francis?"
"He's going to be fine," Wesley assured her.
A wave of relief washed over Harper, but she pressed on, "But why did he faint?"
Knowing Francis's strong constitution, a blow from a stick shouldn't have done this.
"What hit him?" Wesley inquired seriously.
"A stick, about this thick..." Harper gestured with her hands to illustrate.
Wesley frowned. "It was cerebral contusion that caused the coma. He's out of danger for now, but it was a critical spot. A little higher, and he might not have woken up."
Something seemed to collapse inside Harper, a discomfort she couldn't articulate.
She couldn't bear the thought of Francis never waking up...
Wesley comforted her, "We're fortunate that's not the case. He'll recover with some rest."
Then something else occurred to him, "However, that wound doesn't look like a wooden stick caused it. It resembles more the impact from an iron rod."
At Wesley's reminder, an epiphany struck Harper.
The crisp sound of the stick hitting the ground as Francis kicked the servant...
That sound wasn't like wood at all, but more like iron!
In hindsight, her initial instincts were correct—Amelia did intend to take her and the baby's life!
She never imagined Amelia capable of such cruelty.
Noticing Harper looked unwell, Wesley asked, "Do you need to rest?"
"No, I want to stay with Francis, but thank you."
Wesley watched Harper's retreating figure and shook his head.
Two people, both with unspoken thoughts in their hearts, had found their way to each other.
...
On the hospital bed, Francis lay in a patient gown, both his right shoulder and the back of his head wrapped in bandages.
His innate aura of dominance seemed to fade in slumber, softening the lines of his face.
Harper couldn't resist the urge to reach out and lightly trace his distinguished eyebrows, nose, and jawline with her fingertip.
He truly was blessed with striking features.
Her hand, as if possessed, finally caressed his Adam's apple—an act she'd long fantasized about.
Francis's Adam's apple looked particularly alluring, the pronounced curve reminiscent of a majestic mountain peak.
Before, in their shared bed, she'd always held back, too cautious to fully let go. But now, facing divorce, Harper knew she couldn't miss this chance. As her fingers brushed his tempting throat, it unexpectedly moved.
Before Harper could retract her hand, Francis's eyes snapped open, their gazes clashing. His pupils were dark as precious stones, and when he looked at her, it felt like a vortex was pulling her in.
A sudden flurry of nerves took over Harper's heart. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he caught it effortlessly.
"Why sneak around?" Francis's voice was cool and clear, betraying none of the grogginess of sleep.
Harper's heart tightened, and she blurted out, "There was a bug."
"A bug?"
"Yeah, I brushed it off for you," she said, trying to maintain a serious tone while spouting nonsense, all while ignoring the hand that firmly held hers.
"Oh."
Just as Harper breathed a sigh of relief, Francis reached to call for assistance, and she quickly interjected.
"What do you need? I can help."
His expression was indifferent, and he quirked a brow. "Would you mind asking how they clean VIP hospital rooms here? How could there be bugs?"
Feeling her cheeks burn, Harper paused, "Maybe I was mistaken. Let's not fuss over such a small thing, okay?"
Her voice was soft and pitiable. Swiftly, she changed the subject. "Is any part of your body hurt?"
"It hurts all over."
"Then I'll call the doctor."
As Harper started to rise, the grip on her hand suddenly tightened, and she toppled onto Francis's chest.
He seemed to tremble for a moment.
Harper tried to get up but found herself immobilized.
"No need for a doctor. Stay here with me," he said, his voice hovering above her, impossible to discern emotion.
"Ah..." Harper's eyes widened in bewilderment.
His voice was cold and clear as he asked, "Do you plan on sleeping there?"
She knew what he meant but couldn't help her flush or her stuttering response. "I-I'm not tired yet. If I get sleepy, I'll have Victor come to keep you company."
"Harper." Francis's voice was even, the underlying coolness hard to ignore.
"Do you even have a heart?"
His dark eyes bore into her, the implicit reprimand feeling as if it could swallow her whole.
Harper felt responsible and took a step back in concession. "I'm just not sleepy right now."
Seeing her excuse to avoid joining him in bed, Francis scoffed, "Scared, I'll devour you? You must think quite highly of me to be so afraid!"
Embarrassed to the core, Harper stumbled over her words, "No, it's not that. I just..."
Before she could finish, she was pulled closer, and he murmured, "Shall I carry you up then?"
Breath mingling, Harper's face flushed crimson. "No, no, I've got it," she protested.
With a gentle yet firm tug, Harper easily got onto the bed. The VIP hospital room bed was big, just a bit smaller than hers at home, and the man's strong arms wrapped around her assertively.
Worried about aggravating his injuries, Harper suggested, "We don't need to be this close, do we?"
"Close?" Francis lowered his gaze, his prominent nose brushing hers, a husky timbre to his voice. "This is what you call close."
Harper's face betrayed her, blushing uncontrollably just before her lips were captured by his. His tongue traced the outline of her lips and then withdrew, his voice a deep magnetic drawl, "We could get even closer."
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