Sophie’s palm had been cut by a piece of porcelain, and her entire hand was bandaged up like a pig’s hoof.
The doctor had told her not to let the wound touch water before it scabbed over.
So, Sophie stood before the bathtub, awkward and unsure what to do.
She turned, walked to the bath chamber doorway, poked her head out, and looked at Thomas Shannon, who was leaning against the head of the bed, flipping through a magazine.
Young Master Shannon didn’t even spare her a sidelong glance. "Manners?"
Sophie bit her lip. "Young Master..."
Thomas Shannon snapped the magazine shut. "Speak!"
Sophie lifted her little ’pig’s hoof’ and waved it in the air. "The doctor said I can’t touch water. What should I do?"
"You can’t take a bath with one hand?"
Thomas Shannon raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you want me to help you bathe?"
Sophie wore an expression that clearly asked, ’Thomas Shannon, can’t you be even a little smarter?’
Her hand can’t touch water; couldn’t he at least think of a way to waterproof her wound?
So pretentious! Thomas Shannon cursed inwardly and tossed the magazine onto the bedside table. "Then just don’t bathe. Endure it!"
Sophie smiled, stepped out of the bath chamber, and walked towards the bed. "I’m fine with it. After all, I got used to being dirty in the asylum. Going a day or two without a bath doesn’t bother me at all. But Young Master, are *you* fine with it?"
As she spoke, she bent her knees, slowly climbed onto the bed, and moved closer to him.
Young Master Shannon, already bathed and exuding a faint, fresh scent from his bath, clad in a black sleep gown, frowned sharply as he saw her approach.
"But I’m sleepy, and I want to sleep." Sophie spoke confidently, the corners of her mouth curving into a challenging smile as she looked directly at him.
She lay down beside him, her little ’pig’s hoof’ raised, and lightly tapped his strikingly handsome face. "Young Master, it’s getting late. Let’s rest!"
Thomas Shannon aimed a kick with his long leg, intending to mercilessly send her off the bed.
Sophie rolled with the motion, tumbling to the edge of the bed, barely managing to stay on.
She pouted and chuckled softly. "We agreed to rest together, yet you tell me to get lost. Thomas Shannon, you’re too heartless."
"Young Master, are you perhaps forgetful? The doctor said my hand can’t touch water."
At this moment, in Young Master Shannon’s eyes, the incessantly chattering little maniac looked like a true madwoman—endlessly prattling, unbearably noisy.
"You want me to help you, is that it?"
A corner of Thomas Shannon’s mouth lifted, a knowing, cold glint flickering in the depths of his eyes. "Just don’t regret this."
A chill ran down Sophie’s spine. She had a feeling that provoking him was a mistake.
She was probably... about to regret this.
Inside the bath chamber, Thomas Shannon rolled up his sleeves and stood by the bathtub. His deep, sculpted features looked even more handsome, utterly captivating.
His narrow eyes squinted dangerously, exuding a fatal allure.
He had already filled the bathtub; it was ready for a bath at any moment.
But Sophie refused to take a step forward. She wasn’t stupid; who actually lets someone else help them bathe?
He clearly intended to use this as an opportunity for revenge. To punish her properly.
Sophie glanced at her injured hand, then at his grim expression. After a moment’s thought, she said tactfully, "Young Master, perhaps you’ve misunderstood my meaning?"
"Weren’t you asking for help? I didn’t misunderstand. I’m helping you right now."
"No, no, no, what I meant was, I can manage to bathe with one hand just fine. So, really, I won’t trouble you for your help."