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Besides, he would be distressed if she were to wake up feeling tired.
Shane took a quick shower and walked out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes.
After casually drying his hair with the towel, he strode to the bed, pulled the covers up,
and joined Natalie in bed. With his arms wrapped around her, he closed his eyes and went
to sleep.
At the same time, it was nighttime at Joyce's place.
She tidied her room and headed out to the adjoining room that belonged to Stanley,
intending to ask what he wanted for dinner so she could buy the ingredients and cook for
him.
Even though he had told her to hire a caretaker to care for him, which she did, the
caretaker was not here yet. Thus, she still had to take care of him.
Upon arriving before Stanley's room, Joyce knocked on the door.
Stanley had just woken up, so his brain was still fuzzy. The sound of the knock made him
frown. “Come in,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Outside the room, Joyce noticed he sounded different and froze in surprise. Hastily, she
pushed the door open and asked, “Mr. Quinn, what happened? Are you sick? You sound
like you're ill.”
At that moment, Stanley had one hand covering his eye. When he heard her words, he
removed his hand and sat up in his bed. “It's you,” he uttered, looking toward the woman
standing in the doorway.
“Yes, it's me.” Joyce nodded. She then closed the door and went to him. “Mr. Quinn, do
you feel sick somewhere? You don't seem well.”
Indeed, Stanley looked ill as his face was pale.
In the last few days, he had been making good progress in his recovery. Apart from his
bones, his superficial injuries were almost completely healed. As a result, his cheeks had
regained their usual rosy hue, unlike the pale complexion he had when he was first
admitted to the hospital.
Nonetheless, as of then, his complexion had returned to its initial pale state, making her
worried that his injury had relapsed or dehisced.
“I'm fine,” Stanley replied, massaging the space between his brows.
Joyce furrowed her brows. “You're fine? That's impossible. Take a look at how pale you
are.”
Right afterward, she hurriedly fished out her phone to let him take a good look at himself
on the screen.
At the sight of her actions, Stanley arched a brow and quirked his lips. “You look anxious.
Are you worried about me?”
Joyce was stunned by his remarks but soon kept her phone away and took a step back.
Shaking her head, she denied, “No, of course not.”
Her heart was pounding, and her cheeks were flushed with heat. She even avoided
meeting his gaze, feeling a mix of conflicting emotions.
She had no idea why she was flustered.
He merely misunderstood me, so why am I panicking?
Despite thinking that way, she remained flustered and could not calm down.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmJoyce did not know what was happening to her.
She was consumed by a peculiar sensation that left her feeling powerless. Simultaneously,
she felt intrigued and addicted to the sensation.
Stanley narrowed his eyes when he noticed how quickly she denied being worried. “No?
You're not worried about me at all?” he asked. “I might be feeling unwell because of my
injuries. You were the cause of my discomfort, but you're not worried at all? Joyce Rivers,
don't you think you're being too indifferent?”
Hearing that, Joyce raised her head instantly. “That's not true, Mr. Quinn. I'm not
indifferent. I'm just... Well...”
She bit her lip nervously, not knowing how to explain herself.
Joyce wanted to say that she was worried about him, but it felt as though her worry for
him would become strange if she said it out loud.
In short, her concern for him would sound like that of a lover rather than just a friend.
He had taken the initiative to ask her if she was worried about him, so it felt really
ambiguous.
That was why she instinctively denied being worried about him to stop his words from
sounding ambiguous.
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