She avoided his gaze guiltily, not daring to meet his cold eyes for even a second.
For the first time, the usually defiant maniac showed a guilty expression.
Thomas Shannon sneered, grabbing her jaw with one hand. "Do you think danger announces itself before it arrives? Have you no sense of safety at all?"
Sophie Sullivan knew he was angry, but she hadn’t expected him to still be angry even after she had woken up.
Sophie couldn’t understand it. She suddenly lifted her head, her eyes staring straight at him. "Thomas Shannon, what are you so angry about?"
"I don’t want to be the one collecting your corpse!"
Sophie didn’t believe him. She moved closer, staring at his criminally handsome face, her hand quietly reaching out to touch his chest.
"Tell me, are you in love with me?"
Beneath her palm, the man’s heartbeat remained steady, its rhythm unchanged.
"What do you think?" The corner of Thomas Shannon’s lips curved into a barely perceptible smile as he removed her hand from his chest.
Sophie pursed her lips. "If you don’t love me, why are you so angry?"
"Do I have to love you to be angry?"
"If it’s not love, then you like me, right?" Sophie pressed, giving Thomas Shannon no room to breathe.
The man’s dark eyes, flecked with tiny points of starlight, regarded her. "Maniac, you’re bursting with confidence even with a ruined face. I can’t imagine what you’d be like if your face recovered. Would you try to ascend to the heavens?"
So, not love. And not like either. Why the personal attack?
Sophie pried his hand away, pressed a hand to her forehead, and let her body fall back stiffly. "My head hurts. Don’t talk to me."
Thomas Shannon got off the bed and went to the tea table. He poured himself a cup of water, took a few sips, then turned to look at Sophie on the bed. "Are you hungry?"
"Hungry. Bring me some food."
Thomas Shannon was momentarily speechless.
She was ordering him around with increasing boldness, as if she had every right to! As if he owed her from his past life!
Porridge was being kept warm in the kitchen. Thomas Shannon brought a bowl of porridge and a few appetizing small dishes back to the bedroom.
He placed the tray on the bedside table. "Help yourself."
Sophie struggled to sit up and leaned against the headboard. Her hair cascaded down, covering half of her face.
The visible half of her face was pale, and her lips had lost their rosy color.
She made no move to eat. Thomas Shannon stood by the bedside, looking down at her.
Sophie pouted. "I have no strength left. Feed me."
"I’m hungry," Sophie interrupted Thomas Shannon boldly.
She had nearly died, barely escaping with her life. Shouldn’t he take good care of her? Hadn’t she taken care of him when he was drunk?
Suppressing the anger surging in his chest, Thomas Shannon sat down by the bedside, picked up the bowl of porridge, and said, with no trace of gentleness, "Open your mouth."
"Thomas Shannon, haven’t you ever cared for a patient before? You need to be gentle, understand?"
Thomas Shannon’s brow furrowed deeply. "Are you a patient?"
"I survived a catastrophe and got a second chance at life. Otherwise, I’d be a disabled patient by now."
"No one will mistake you for a mute if you keep quiet!"
Thomas Shannon lowered his head, blew on the warm porridge, then brought the spoon to her lips.
Sophie smiled faintly. "That’s more like it."
The atmosphere in the bedroom became harmonious.
Amelia Shaw was on tenterhooks, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
She didn’t know if the maniac was awake yet. If not, that would be for the best. She could still try to come up with an emergency plan. But if the maniac was awake, she would definitely be suspected.
She clutched the silk quilt, not knowing what to do.