[EVE]
Cole nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Yeah. You had a pretty bad fever, so I gave you some medication and got you comfortable. I even called a doctor to set up the IV. You should be feeling better soon."
A sudden warmth bloomed in my chest, but I forced it down, clamping it tight. I couldn't let myself be moved by every fleeting gesture, every hint of tenderness he showed—it was dangerous to let my heart sway so easily.
I blinked, surprised. The idea of him here, looking after me all that time, felt oddly . . .
strange
.
I never imagined seeing this side of Cole. Of all people, he was the last person I expected—and wanted—to be by my side at my most vulnerable.
Yet here he was, catching me in a moment I could barely face myself, peeling back my defenses when I had nowhere left to hide.
He wasn't the distant, often-irritated guy I thought I knew. In this moment, he was something else entirely—someone unrecognizable, someone I couldn't reconcile with the Cole I thought I knew.
He'd changed, irrevocably, so much so that I found myself questioning if he was still the same Cole at all. The familiarity was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity that left me breathless and unnerved.
I took a deep breath and sighed, calming my nerves, trying to push Cole away from my thoughts. With it came the memory of being on the floor that came back in bits and pieces.
The ache in my body had dulled, but the exhaustion still lingered. "How long was I out?"
"A full day," he replied, his voice quieter now, almost tender.
"A day?!" I blurted, eyes darting to the clock beside my bed. It was already afternoon, well past lunchtime, and a wave of disbelief washed over me.
I was out for a whole day?! Just what kind of fever was it?
Cole's voice was steady. "The medicine was strong enough to keep you under and help you recover."
It must have been the medication, then. Well, it worked—the fever was gone. But it was strong enough to knock me out completely for an entire day.
I hesitated, feeling the slight tug of my shirt. "Then . . . my shirt . . ." The words fumbled out, my mind swimming with questions I wasn't entirely ready to ask.
Cole pushed his chair back, the scraping sound making me flinch slightly. He stood, his presence both reassuring and unsettling.
"You must be starving," he said, tone soft yet with a tint of panic. "I'll go grab some lunch for you. Just stay put."
Before I could protest or ask for any explanation, Cole slipped out of the room, leaving a quiet echo in his wake.
I looked down, noticing the inside-out shirt again. My bra hadn't been changed, which offered a sliver of comfort, but the questions still buzzed in my head.
Had he really been the one to take care of me? And . . . was he the one who changed my shirt?
A sudden embarrassment crept into my cheeks at the thought. Did he . . . see me naked?
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
What was I even thinking?
Cole wasn't the type to lust after someone's body. I knew that well enough—I'd practically flaunted myself in a swimsuit at the beach once, hoping for a hint of interest, yet he'd barely looked my way.
Not once did he cast a second glance, never mind one that showed any curiosity or attraction.
Taking a deep breath, I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved or slightly offended that there was no reaction from him.
Part of me felt foolish even entertaining the idea that he might have felt anything if he really was the one who changed my shirt. But then again, what was the big deal if he had?
This was Cole, after all—cold, indifferent, unfeeling, inscrutable Cole.
If anything, he might have seen it as just another chore, maybe even a bother.
As I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, my mind wrestled with itself. I should be focused on recovery, not wondering about whether he'd cared for me or if he'd looked at me differently now.
Whatever strange warmth he showed today didn't mean anything.
With a sigh, I covered my eyes with my arm, forcing myself to forget the whole situation, though a faint warmth lingered, refusing to leave.
Within minutes, Cole returned with a bed tray holding a freshly cooked meal, its warmth and aroma filling the room.
My stomach growled loudly at the scent, and I heard him chuckle softly. Embarrassed, I shot him a glare, but he just smiled in that unruffled way of his.
He was smiling more often now, and I had to admit, it bothered me more than I cared to admit. Something about it felt different—too soft, too . . . gentle. It stirred something inside me that I couldn't quite place, and it made me uneasy.
"Eat up," he said, setting the tray gently in front of me.
I glanced at the food—a bowl of steaming rice porridge, some simple vegetable soup, and sliced fruit arranged carefully on the side.
It was the kind of gentle, comforting meal you'd prepare for someone who was truly unwell—each bite carefully chosen, every detail thought out.
The warmth of it seeped through me, not just from the food itself, but from the unexpected tenderness behind it. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone truly cared.
In the past, when I was sick, no one bothered to check on me. The maids would leave food and medicine on the table, my supposed parents never once asking how I was feeling.
I was left alone, as if my illness might be contagious, as if my suffering might somehow infect them too.
Being cared for by none other than Cole Fay, of all people, stirred something inside me that I hadn't felt in a long time—an unexpected warmth, a fleeting sense of happiness.
It wasn't that I had ever forgot the void that Cole left behind, but in that moment, it was as if the world had gently reminded me that I wasn't entirely alone.
Yet, despite the fleeting comfort, I knew better than to think it would erase everything. Some things—some feelings—aren't so easily forgotten.