Episode 148

Elijah noticed her reddened foot and knelt, offering his hand to lift her legs. "I can walk," Elizabeth insisted, hastily retreating and nearly losing her balance. "No need for drama."

Elijah refrained from carrying her, instead offering a steadying hand, his voice tinged with annoyance. "When I ignore your complaints, you say I don't care. When I try to help, you say I'm overreacting. Isn't that contradictory? What do you truly want? Are you even sure?"

Elizabeth allowed him to guide her to the sofa. "Of course, I know what I want," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "People change, Elijah. Once, I wanted your affection, a harmonious life. You met me with apathy. Now, I realize I no longer want this one-sided marriage. And still, you're displeased. You complained I demanded too much; now you question if I know what I want? Mr. James, perhaps you need to reflect. My needs have always been clear: family and love, before; freedom, now."

Elijah, disinclined to debate, turned away, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I never realized how eloquent you'd become. You're quite prepared, aren't you?"

Elizabeth replied casually, her voice softening slightly, "People argue when they're wrong, more passionately when they believe they're right." She felt weary from this unexpected emotional outburst; she had little appetite for quarrels.

Elijah removed her soiled tissue, discarding it. He reached for the first-aid kit, kneeling before her. He gently cradled her foot, causing her to recoil. She considered her feet profoundly private.

"Stay still," he instructed firmly, yet gently securing her foot. He applied burn ointment, noting for the first time the softness and flawless skin, the petite grace of her foot, its neatly manicured nails. He'd never tended to anyone like this before, proceeding with careful deliberation, his touch soothing and precise.

The cool ointment eased her pain, but her face flushed, her composure crumbling. Her heart pounded; she saw Elijah clearly—his straight nose, long lashes casting shadows over his eyes. Despite her frigid heart and resolve to leave, his kneeling posture, his focused attentiveness, stirred something within her. The sincerity of his servitude felt absurd, yet striking. Whimsically, she imagined him as a nightclub plaything, a hired companion.

Lost in thought, time seemed to dissolve until he finished applying the pale yellow ointment. As he worked, Elijah’s mind echoed Albin’s words.