Chapter 996: Beautiful Scenery in the Morning
In the lobby, a peaceful beauty reigned. Besse carefully bandaged Oscar's wound. Looking up, she met his gaze, sensing deep affection and a hint of a smile. Was it her imagination? The feeling vanished instantly as Oscar looked away, feigning distance.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"You're welcome," Besse replied, releasing his wrist.
A quiet unease settled in the night. Besse packed away the first-aid kit. "It's late; you should sleep," she said, addressing him as "Mr. Commander."
"Okay," he nodded. He respected her implicitly, regardless of her words or actions.
As Besse turned to leave, Oscar added, "Goodnight."
She paused, then turned back. "Goodnight."
Back in her room, her heart raced. Her feelings for Oscar were unsettling. Always emotionally indifferent—hence her lukewarm relationship with Doyle—she found herself inexplicably affected by Oscar. She attributed this to the secure environment he provided, allowing her to stay overnight, fostering a sense of illusion.
"No need to think too much about it," she murmured to herself.
Meanwhile, in the lobby, Oscar remained motionless long after Besse disappeared. Her "goodnight" resonated deeply; he'd thought he'd never hear those words from her again. The warmth in his heart surprised him. He could remain there forever, content to watch her leave, even if she forgot him entirely.
The next day dawned bright. Besse awoke refreshed after a rare seven hours' sleep. Reaching for the door handle, she hesitated, reluctant to face him again, overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions. However, it was only 6 AM, so she decided to sit for a while.
Opening the electric curtains, she settled before the floor-to-ceiling window, intending to check her phone. Instead, she saw Oscar swimming in the outdoor pool. He'd woken incredibly early, considering their late night. Judging by his appearance, he'd been swimming for some time.
As he emerged, Besse froze. His body, clad only in tight boxer briefs, was on full display. She was momentarily stunned. Was it his physique that held her gaze? He exited the pool and, instead of toweling himself, began exercising. His muscular form was accentuated with each movement.
Suddenly, he turned, catching her staring through the window. Besse quickly lowered the curtain, feeling like an intruder, despite simply observing him. After composing herself, she calmly opened their bedroom door. In the living room, Oscar was impeccably dressed in shirt and trousers, a stark contrast to his moments before. Privately, she found the swim trunks far sexier.
"Good morning," Oscar greeted, reading the newspaper, seemingly unperturbed by the earlier incident.
Besse, mirroring his composure, returned the greeting with a smile.
"Would you like breakfast?" he asked, lowering his paper.
"Yes, please."
As he rose, his height emphasized his stature as he walked past her. Besse couldn't help but steal a glance at his backside, though she'd never admit it. She found his physique exceptionally alluring. It wasn't just men who appreciated beauty, she mused; women were equally captivated.
They sat at the dining table.
"Where are Salem and Una?" Besse asked, actively suppressing her overthinking. A naked man was nothing new; she'd seen Doyle and other male models in similar states. Oscar's physique didn't negate her self-control.
"They're still sleeping," Oscar explained. "It's only 7 o'clock; their routine starts after 8."
"I'll be leaving soon," Besse announced.
Oscar paused momentarily, his hand hovering over his milk cup, before calmly replying, "Alright, I'll drive you."
"No thanks. I'll have your driver take me later."
"Mm-hmm," he nodded, accepting her decision without protest.
They ate in quietude until Oscar inquired, "How will you handle the plagiarism accusations?"
Besse responded honestly, "I'll meet with Phantom and explain. If I unintentionally plagiarized, I'll apologize. No designer wants their work stolen."
"What if you didn't plagiarize?"
Besse looked at him directly, "Given the circumstances, it's hard to rule that out." She'd accepted the possibility. Perhaps Doyle and Queen Carol were right—her designs stemmed from a forgotten memory.