06
Lincoln carries me to the blood test window for examination and then waits with me in the hallway for the results.
After his doctor friend receives the results, he says I need an IV. Lincoln then carries me to the ward.
The doctor also prescribes an ointment for my bruises, and a nurse inserts the needle into the vein on the back of my hand. After adjusting the drip rate, she prepares to apply the ointment on my face.
"I'll do it," Lincoln says, taking the cotton swab from her.
The nurse nods and walks out the door. Lincoln suddenly remembers something and calls after her, "Do you have a hair tie?"
"What?" The nurse doesn't catch it.
"A hair tie, for tying hair," Lincoln explains, pointing at me.
The nurse walks back, takes out a black hair tie from her pocket, and hands it to Lincoln.
She glances at Lincoln, then at me lying on the bed with my hair down and half of my face swollen, wanting to say something but closing her mouth instead.
However, as she reaches the door, she can't hold back and turns her head, whispering, "Now you act like a good guy, feeling sorry for your wife. What were you thinking when you hit her?"
Lincoln frowns slightly, wanting to retort, but the nurse is faster and shuts the door.
I suddenly feel like smiling but wince at the pain in my mouth. Lincoln takes a deep breath, asks me to take the cotton swab, gathers all my hair with one hand, and awkwardly ties it with the hair tie using the other.
Then he picks up the cotton swab again and leans towards me. "I'll try to be gentle. If it hurts, let me know."
I nod.
Lincoln's face suddenly enlarges in my view. He's applying the ointment with such focus that he doesn't blink. The cold hospital light casts a faint halo on the back of his head. At some moment, the word "angel" flashes in my mind.
But the word doesn't match his usual casual personality at all, making me frown at my own overly vivid imagination.
"Did I hurt you?" Lincoln stops and looks at me.
I shake my head. "No."
He continues applying the ointment, being even more careful.
The next moment, his phone rings. It's his work partner. I vaguely hear that there's an issue with the design Lincoln made, and they want him to go to the construction site immediately.
"My design can't be wrong, and I'm busy right now." Lincoln glances at me and then hangs up.
"You should go to work. The nurse can take care of me here," I say, lying on my side.
"It's nothing major," Lincoln sits back by the bed. "Those contractors want to cut corners. They contacted me, hoping to use the Daniels family's name to bypass quality inspection at the housing department."
He picks up another cotton swab, applies some ointment, and asks, "Any other injuries?"
I look away and shake head lightly.
But he says, "You better tell the truth, or I'll call your husband now and ask him—"
"No need." I suddenly grab his sleeve.
The movement causes pain in my back, and I inhale sharply.
"Where else? This is the last time I'll ask."
"M-my back," I stammer, "You can leave the ointment there; I'll apply it myself."
Lincoln chuckles, "You only have one hand to move. How will you apply it?"
"I—" I start to speak.
"I'll call the nurse," he says, getting up.
I freeze for a moment, then say after a brief silence, "Thank you."
Lincoln raises an eyebrow, understanding something, "What? You think I'd take advantage of you?"
I swallow. Based on our previous encounters, it's not entirely impossible.
Lincoln laughs lightly.
"Ali, I do want to pursue you, but I don't plan on taking advantage of your illness to do anything. Understand? I'm not crazy."
He leaves the room and returns a minute later with the same nurse who gave me the hair tie.
She unbuttons my shirt and exposes my shoulder.
"Hiss—" She applies the ointment, inhaling sharply, "It's this bad? Your entire scapula is bruised."
"Thank you," I say.
The nurse finishes and throws away the cotton swab. She glances at the door, then suddenly leans close to my ear, "Do you want me to help you call the police?"
I freeze.
"This is domestic violence. I can help you call the police, and they'll issue a restraining order," the nurse says.
"He's not my husband or my boyfriend," I explain.
"Then who is he?"
"He's a... a good Samaritan," I say, seeing the disbelief on the nurse's face. "Otherwise, why would he be willing to apply ointment to my face but not my back? We're really not a couple, and he didn't hit me."
At this moment, the door opens.
"Are you done?" Lincoln asks, leaning against the door frame.
"Oh, yes," the nurse replies, hands in her pockets, and leaves. She gives Lincoln another look as she passes by.
The IV drip still needs another two hours. During this time, Lincoln stays by my bedside. At some point, I feel hungry but can't eat anything, so he peels an orange for me.
Later, my fever subsides, and I feel much better, wanting to drive home myself.
"Are you sure you don't need me to take you home?" Lincoln touches my forehead again, checking my temperature.
I press my lips together.
"Okay, okay, I know you can't explain it to my brother," he withdraws his hand and pauses. "But can we at least exchange contact information? If you feel unwell on the way, call me."
I nod, "Thank you."
Actually, I feel fine on the way back to the old mansion. My mind is clear, and even the bruises on my face and back don't hurt as much.
I start to feel uncomfortable when I pass by the garden. Through the holly bushes, I see two maids sweeping the snow. People need gossip to pass the time while working, so I hear them saying, "That model left."
"Really? But I think she'll eventually stay in the old mansion."
"I think so too. Last night Mr. Mateo slapped the other one. They'll divorce sooner or later."
I want to pretend I didn't hear anything, but my footsteps give me away.
The two maids turn their heads and bow in a hurry when they see me. I ignore them and walk into the hall.
It's 1 PM. The house is quiet. Mateo is already up and having afternoon tea in the dining room.
As I pass by, he calls out to me, "Where did you go?"
I wave the paper bag with the ointment in it, which has the hospital's logo.
"Are you mute?" Mateo frowns slightly, "Come here."
Instinctively, I want to stay away from him, but I don't dare disobey. I sit at the furthest seat in the dining room.
A servant notices me and brings me a cup of tea and some sweets.
"Let me see your face," Mateo suddenly says.
I take off my mask.
Mateo continues drinking his tea.
I feel that I've stayed long enough and stand up, "I'll go back to my room now."
"Wait," he says from behind me.
I turn around to see Mateo throwing a small box onto the table. The box is open, revealing a car key inside.
"Don't drive that junky Seat anymore when you go out. It makes it look like I'm mistreating you."
I mechanically walk over, pick up the box, say "thank you," and return to my room. Lying on the bed, I hold up the car key to look at it.
This is the first gift Mateo has ever given me.
Super-rich people are different. They casually give gifts like an Aston Martin. I check its price online, and my heart races. If I sell the car, it would solve my mom's hospitalization problem.
But if Mateo finds out I'm not driving it, he'll be furious.
So, the slap I received was worth nothing.
My phone rings, and it's Lincoln asking if I got home safely.
Feeling sleepy, I reply, "Yes," and then toss the phone aside, curling up on the bed and closing my eyes.
Within a minute, the phone rings again, "Did he hit you again?"
"No," I reply, picking up the phone.
"Don't worry, this isn't over."
I really want to ask what Lincoln means, but I'm too tired and fall asleep clutching my phone.