Chapter 25

Jonathan looked at me with dark eyes. Before I could react, another firm smack landed on my bottom. The sharp sound filled me with fury and shock. He had actually struck me! I stared in disbelief, my gaze burning with anger and hatred. I was about to rise when he pushed me back onto the bed. He looked at me solemnly. “You’re not allowed to dismiss me when it comes to something like this. You have to tell me if you’re injured, do you hear me?”

I gritted my teeth. “Jonathan, do you have trouble understanding simple words?” I inhaled deeply, but before I could continue, he anticipated my response, clapping a hand over my mouth. He lay down behind me, pulling me into his arms. Trapped in his embrace, with his arm around my waist and his warm breath on my ear, he said, “I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow. If nothing’s wrong, we’ll go to the Ford Manor. Grandpa hasn’t been feeling well, so we’ll need to stay with him for a while.”

Grandpa? The word caused a dull ache in my brain. I had no recollection of such a person, yet the term evoked extreme discomfort, resistance, and a deep-seated panic.

Early the next morning, Jonathan took me to the hospital. Meeting the same doctor from yesterday, I realized they were friends. “We meet again,” Jim White said, a slight smile on his face. His aloofness from yesterday was intriguing. My heart pounded; my thoughts muddled. I quickly averted my gaze, unable to tell if he’d noticed anything amiss. Fortunately, he spoke little, giving Jonathan only a few instructions. “There’s nothing seriously wrong, but—”

I burst into a cough, interrupting him. Jim gave me a searching look, met by a silent plea in my eyes. He frowned, seemingly deliberating. Finally, he said to Jonathan, “It’s nothing serious. You can take her home.”

Relief flooded me. Jonathan went for paperwork, leaving Jim and me alone in his office. The awkwardness was palpable, a stark contrast to yesterday. Perhaps it was because he’d just covered for me; I felt self-conscious under his gaze.

“What’s going through your mind?” he asked suddenly, tapping his finger on the desk. His cryptic manner unnerved me. I remained silent, fearing self-exposure. He chuckled softly. “I just helped you hide your secret, and this is how you treat me?”

I leaped up, studying him warily. A faint smirk played on his lips. “You don’t want Jonathan to know how deep the cut on your wrist is, so I didn’t tell him. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

I pursed my lips. “He knew I cut my wrists, but he didn’t believe me. It’s fine if you told him; he wouldn’t believe it.”

“Is that so?” Jim raised an eyebrow. “He might not believe you, but if I told him the severity of the wound, he’d likely believe me.” He stood. I quickly grabbed his arm. “Don’t…”