Chapter 142: Unspoken Tension

“I don’t know about that,” the first muse muttered. “But I do know that having him watch me while I gave that injection nearly scared me to death.”

Summer leaned against the hospital bed, watching the IV drip. It had already been two hours. She glanced over at Fraser, who was lounging lazily on the sofa, his head lowered as he scrolled through his phone, handling work.

“I have a caretaker. If you have things to do.”

At her words, Fraser lifted his gaze from the screen, glancing at her with an unreadable expression. His voice was calm yet piercing. “Are you that desperate to get rid of me?”

Summer stiffened, swallowing back the rest of her sentence. She decided not to engage with him any further and went back to texting Yvette. Yvette was overseas filming and had wanted to fly back the moment she heard what happened to Summer, but Summer stopped her. Her injuries weren’t that serious—just a wound on her right leg that made walking difficult for now. She figured a week in the hospital, and she’d be discharged.

Yvette sent a message: “So, when you told Trevor that Peyton was behind the kidnapping, how did he react? Did he believe you?”

Summer replied, “Not sure.”

Yvette texted back, “Guess stripping her down last time didn’t teach her a lesson. Just wait till I get back—I’ll make sure she pays the price for…”

Summer hadn’t mentioned to Yvette that Peyton and Trevor had slept together. Bringing it up would only make it seem like she cared, even though the second she found out, she’d felt absolutely disgusted.

Yvette texted, “By the way, does Mr. Graham know you fell off a cliff? Did Trevor rushing in to save you make him jealous? If this were a drama, the male lead would be drowning in jealousy by now.”

Jealous? No. Pissed off? Definitely. Like he was ready to tear me apart.

Summer glanced up from her phone and looked towards the balcony, where Fraser was on a call. The VIP hospital suite had its own bathroom, a sofa, and even a private balcony. Fraser stood outside, phone pressed to his ear, his other hand resting on the railing. His voice was cold and sharp, carrying the kind of authority that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for excuses. She could only imagine how miserable the poor guy on the other side of the call must’ve felt. From his tall, commanding stance, she could feel the distant, untouchable aura he carried.

But faced with his cold, hard-edged attitude, she wisely shut her mouth.

After a while, she lay on the bed, tossing and turning. She glanced at Fraser, still pacing on the balcony, taking one call after another. It was like he’d turned her hospital room into his personal office. She hesitated, debating whether to ask for his help, but after some thought, she dropped the idea. Instead, she sent a message to Leona.

Leona texted, “Ms. Stewart, Mrs. Stewart made a nutritious meal. I’m on my way back now. If you need anything urgently, just ring the nurse.”

The nurse! Summer immediately thought of the way the nurses had looked at her earlier—gossiping, teasing, full of knowing smirks. Summer wanted to disappear into thin air—there was no way she was calling them for help. But she had a bigger problem. Her legs were tightly pressed together, and she was reaching her limit. She glanced at the bathroom, quickly calculating the distance from her bed. With a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and decided to do it on her own.

Summer carefully shifted to the edge of the bed, placing her uninjured foot on the floor as she wobbled unsteadily to stand. She took a deep breath, bracing herself against the bedside table. Balancing on one foot, she stretched out her hand, reaching for the IV bag. Just as she was about to reach it, a strong, steady hand suddenly appeared above her, effortlessly taking down the IV bag.

Startled, Summer looked up and met Fraser’s deep, dark gaze head-on. They were standing so close she could see her own reflection in his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat. Fraser’s sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, stopping at her tightly pressed legs. He narrowed his gaze. “What, a few days in the hospital and you’ve forgotten how to ask for help?”

Like all I was going to ask him for help.

“I can do it myself.” She reached for the IV bag, determined to handle it on her own, and hopped her way to the bathroom.

Fraser let out a low chuckle, lips curling in a smirk. “Still so stubborn. That temper of yours is something else. Do you save all of it just for me?”

Summer, red-faced and desperate, glared at him. “I do not!”

“Sure, sure, you don’t,” he said, his tone as dismissive as if he were humoring a sulking child. But seeing her struggle, Fraser stopped teasing. He held onto the IV bag—then, without warning, bent down and scooped her up effortlessly, his arms sliding beneath her knees.