Episode 74

Elijah ignored her, focusing on the rain-streaked window. The rhythmic drumming soothed his frayed nerves. Upon arriving at the villa, he found Elizabeth feverish, her forehead alarmingly hot. She was lost in a nightmare, whispering fretfully, tears staining her cheeks.

With a grim expression, he hoisted her into his arms, his movements brusque, mirroring his inner turmoil. Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, and this slight movement reignited a spark of desire he thought controlled. He tightened his grip, fearing she might slip away.

Oliver, noticing Elizabeth's distress, cautiously suggested, "Ms. Sandra seems quite ill. Shouldn't we take her to the hospital?" At the mention of a hospital, Elizabeth stirred, clutching Elijah's suit in childlike panic. "I'm not going!" she cried.

Elijah paused, then instructed Oliver, "Get the doctor to the house. You wait in the living room." He swiftly ascended the stairs, carrying Elizabeth. The house was eerily quiet, devoid of staff. Noticing her wet clothes, he instinctively pulled a blanket from the bed and laid her down.

This was unfamiliar territory. He rubbed his temples, visibly disturbed. He then retrieved a set of pajamas. Elizabeth, drifting in and out of consciousness, recognized the familiar room, though her fever made it spin. Seeing Elijah's concerned expression as he approached with her pajamas, she could hardly believe it—a dream, a fleeting illusion. Elijah, of all people, showing such concern.

As he helped her change, her body tensed, haunted by memories of the recent car incident. Noticing her discomfort, his voice softened, though his patience was thin. "Change into these dry clothes before you rest," he said gently. "Okay," she replied, too weary to argue what felt like a figment of her imagination.

She unbuttoned her blouse. Elijah discreetly turned away, confirming in Elizabeth's mind that even in her dream, he maintained a respectful distance. His past gestures had felt more like fulfilling a need than showing affection, leaving her feeling reprimanded rather than cherished.

She quickly changed and slipped under the covers. The plush silk quilt embraced her—a luxury she couldn't resist. She fell into a fitful sleep, the comfort a stark contrast to the turmoil in her mind.

Elijah paused at the bedroom threshold, his gaze lingering on her sleeping form before drifting to her scattered clothes. He muttered, "What am I to do with these?"

The next morning, Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, her vision slowly clearing. Memories of the previous night, and the vivid image of Elijah's worried expression, surfaced. She massaged her temples, trying to dispel the remnants of the dream. She'd allowed herself to wallow in fantasy for too long—over two years of wishful thinking. It was time to end it. It had been just a dream.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock. Before she could respond, the door opened, revealing an unfamiliar middle-aged woman carrying a tray. "Who are you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice tinged with confusion.