Zoe Lancaster had no reaction. She merely swallowed and blinked, her eyes feeling unbearably dry. Not a single ripple of emotion stirred within her. "You’re holding me too tight."
Only then did Simon Hawthorne realize it. He released the woman and caught the thick scent of blood. He froze. His gaze shifted, landing on the slash across her arm. In that instant, a terrifying fury surged in his eyes. "You’re hurt."
Zoe lowered her eyes. "This was expected. Why be surprised by the inevitable?"
Simon’s heart gave a violent tremor. He bent down and scooped her into his arms. "To the hospital!"
But Zoe felt exhausted. She looked up at the dim, boundless sky. "I don’t want to go to the hospital. Let’s just go back."
Simon’s steps faltered slightly. His Shauns looked at her. The woman’s expression remained unchanged—pale and weary, yet somewhat tranquil. However, an inexplicable panic seized him, as if he were endlessly plummeting into an abyss. He had a terrible premonition. It was as if she no longer cared about anything, including him. It was a numb, callous despair.
Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. For once, he yielded to her request. "Alright. I’ll have the doctor come to Somerset Gardens."
She was carefully carried into the car. Simon was in a foul mood. His face remained dark as he pressed a handkerchief against the wound on her arm, completely unbothered by the blood staining his clothes. Zoe kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to speak, nor did she have the energy to deal with anything. She only wanted to escape through this silence.
They soon arrived at Somerset Gardens.
The private doctor was already waiting. He swiftly examined Zoe’s injury. "It’s not too serious. Although the cut is over ten centimeters long, fortunately, it’s not deep. It will hurt quite a bit, though. She needs a tetanus shot and a few stitches."
Despite his words, Zoe never once cried out in pain. If not for her pale face, she would have looked entirely fine.
Simon’s mood was terribly sour. He tried repeatedly to light a cigarette, but for some reason, it just wouldn’t catch. Giving up, he shoved the lighter back into his pocket. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke in a gloomy voice, "Be gentle. She can’t handle pain."
The doctor nodded. "Rest assured, Mr. Hawthorne."
The doctor worked quickly, and Zoe was practically drifting off to sleep. After finishing everything, the doctor left a few instructions. "Don’t let the wound get wet, and keep her diet light. I’ll come back tomorrow morning to change the dressing."
Simon gave a low hum of acknowledgment.
The room fell silent.
Zoe glanced at her bandaged arm, suddenly finding the situation ironic. Not long ago, Simon had also injured his left arm. Today, she suffered a wound in the exact same spot.
Simon sat on the edge of the bed. His deep voice carried a hint of complexity. "I’ll handle Leo Linden. If you’re still angry, you can also deal with him privately..."
"I’m sorry." Zoe cut him off. She spoke calmly, "Leo Linden was coming for me in the first place. Peyton Joyce was merely dragged into this because of me. I apologize to you for making her suffer."
She was someone who always kept things strictly black and white. In this incident, Peyton had indeed suffered an unprovoked disaster.
Simon’s dark eyes deepened as he stared at her. "Why are you apologizing to me?"
Even though he was the one who had abandoned her and chosen Peyton.
Zoe’s voice was faint—so faint it felt fragile and brittle. "You care about her. If something happened to her because of me, even if Leo didn’t kill me, you would have taken your anger out on me. Shouldn’t I know my place?"
Her tone was sluggish, yet her words were piercingly sharp.
Simon pursed his lips. "When did I ever say that?"
She looked at him. "Haven’t you already made your choice?"
Silence descended once more.
Simon didn’t speak for a long time. Behind his thin lenses hid unpredictable emotions. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Zoe’s ear. "There was a reason for what happened. I’ve never thought you were unimportant."
Zoe instinctively dodged his touch, leaving the man’s hand to grasp thin air. He froze, looking at her intently.
Zoe lay down with her back to Simon. Upon hearing his words, she merely replied, "I’m tired." She showed zero intention of listening to his explanation. She was like a glass doll completely devoid of normal human emotions—hollow and apathetic.
Simon felt as if a clump of gravel had lodged in his chest, choking him with a dull, aching discomfort. His beautiful, long eyes lowered, and his jaw tightened. "Zoe, don’t you have anything you want to say?"
The woman didn’t move, keeping her eyes shut. "No."
Her single crisp word held no discernible emotion. She didn’t lose her temper. She didn’t interrogate him. She showed none of the reactions she ought to have had. Yet, this very silence seemed to ignite a stifling fire within his heart.
Simon stared at her deeply, remaining silent for a long time. Nor was he in a hurry to leave. Hunched over on the sofa, he smoked one cigarette after another. He had always been particular, preferring to slip a sliver of agarwood into his cigarettes. Now, however, he was not in the mood. He pinched the bridge of his nose, watching the cigarette butts gradually pile up. It wasn’t until his throat felt dry and scratchy that he finally looked toward the bed. Bathed in the moonlight, the woman’s silhouette was as frail as a willow branch, entirely lifeless.
He checked the time. It was almost eleven o’clock. He stood up and walked over to the bed. Zoe had kept the same posture with her eyes closed, her breathing even. It was impossible to tell if she had actually fallen asleep. He didn’t care. He merely leaned over. His slightly cool fingertips gently caressed her pale cheek in a gesture of tender affection, stirring up a chaotic tangle of emotions. The woman still didn’t wake.
Simon lowered his head. Unconcerned with whether she was pretending to be asleep, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. "Rest well. Wait for me to come back."
The door opened and closed, and the room plunged into complete silence.
Only then did Zoe slowly open her eyes. Staring into the dim room, her stunning, radiant face was devoid of expression. There was not a trace of sleepiness in her eyes. Her arm hurt terribly, but it paled in comparison to the corrosive agony eating away at her from the inside. The pain made cold sweat break out across her forehead in waves, yet she couldn’t shed a single tear. She wondered if she should carefully consider whether there was still any need for her to hold on.
Letting out a deep breath, Zoe struggled to get out of bed and walked to the door. The moment she pulled it open, she saw two servants standing outside, guarding her without moving an inch. Upon seeing her, their eyes flickered with unease. "Mrs. Hawthorne, is there something you need?"
Zoe stared blankly ahead, her voice calm. "No. I’m just going for a walk. Don’t mind me."
The servants quickly shook their heads. When they looked at her, there was an odd trace of pity in their eyes. "Mrs. Hawthorne, you’re injured and should be resting. Mr. Hawthorne told us to keep a close eye on you. If anything goes wrong, Mr. Hawthorne will hold us accountable. Please... don’t make things difficult for us, alright?"
At this point, what was there left to misunderstand? Simon was having her watched. He wasn’t going to allow her to take a single step out of Somerset Gardens. He was indeed terrifyingly smart. Anticipating that she wouldn’t stay put obediently, he had made his arrangements in advance.
A suffocating wave of pain engulfed her. Tears finally welled up in Zoe’s eyes, but she only pulled her lips into a mocking smirk. "And if I insist on leaving today?"
The servants looked deeply conflicted but ultimately steeled their resolve. "Mr. Hawthorne said it’s impossible for you to leave this house...
"If you want to throw a temper tantrum, wait until he gets back and throw it in front of him."