Chapter 95: Don't Even Think About Anything Else

Cheyenne returned to treat Iker's legs. This time, her grandfather, Layne, was absent, having returned to Yrose for two days, leaving Cheyenne alone.

After administering acupuncture, Cheyenne's fair forehead glistened with sweat. Drops clung to the tip of her petite, reddened nose. Her rosy cheeks enhanced her already adorable appearance.

Iker, too, was suffering; the pain was even more intense than before. It felt as if millions of ants were crawling through his veins, causing unbearable itching and pain in his legs. The density of needles in his knee was enough to make anyone's scalp tingle.

His large hands clenched into fists on the wheelchair armrests, his fingers tapping the metal, leaving deep indentations. Sweat dripped from his palms. He wore a slightly open white bathrobe, revealing a sun-kissed bronze chest.

The water glistened, smooth and taut as rose petals—sensuous yet wild. A single glance caused Cheyenne's ears to flush. She had only ever seen Kelvin's naked body.

"Hmm, even though Master Iker is in a wheelchair, his physique is no less impressive than Kelvin's," she mused.

"What are you looking at?" A cold voice from above nearly choked her with fear.

Pouting, she retorted, "Who said I was looking at you? I merely glanced over. Don't flatter yourself; there's nothing interesting about you."

Iker's cold aura intensified. His frosty gaze fixed on her. "Do you want to test me? Just because I'm disabled doesn't mean I'm incapable, as you seem to think."

His words held a suggestive undertone that unsettled her. She glared.

"You you have no shame!"

"Don't act so innocent. I have no interest in you. Focus on treating my legs, and you'll be well paid. Don't expect anything else."

'What do I expect from you? If I really want to remarry, even Omari would be better!' she thought.

"Master Iker, you're too confident. Don't worry, you're not my type," she said, deliberately increasing the pressure as she removed the needles, causing him to wince.

He suspected retaliation but lacked proof. He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain silently, which only increased his sweating.

After treatment, both were profusely sweating. Cheyenne's blue dress accentuated her curves, exuding a quiet charm. Tanner entered with two maids and two towels.

"Master Iker, would you like a bath?"

Iker nodded, glancing at Cheyenne before leaving. Noticing her sweat-soaked dress, he suggested, "Miss Lawrence, why not shower here before leaving? You're covered in sweat you might offend passersby."

Cheyenne felt embarrassed and angry, sniffing herself. "Thank you," she gritted.

"Tanner, escort Miss Lawrence," Iker instructed.

One of the maids led Cheyenne to her previous room—spotlessly clean.

"Miss Lawrence, this room is reserved for you by Master Iker; we clean it daily," the maid explained.

"Oh." Cheyenne wondered about this special arrangement.

The maid mistook her silence for shyness and chuckled.

Only in the bathroom did Cheyenne realize the room contained face wash and facial masks.

"That guy doesn't look like he uses facial masks," she thought, understanding the maid's earlier comment.

"If you need anything, Miss Lawrence, let me know. I'll wait outside," the maid said before leaving.

"Thank you, but I don't need anything," Cheyenne replied, closing the door and unzipping her dress.

After showering, she faced a problem: she had no clean clothes. Her dress was soaked.

Desperately, she knocked, her voice trembling. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Hearing rustling, she assumed it was the maid and felt relieved. "Excuse me, Miss could you help me find some clothes?"

Outside stood a surprised man with thick eyebrows—he'd forgotten to provide clothes! The maid had gone for water but returned to find Iker at the bathroom door. Her pupils dilated; she froze.

"Master Iker, you what are you doing here?"

"Shh. Go downstairs and find her clothes."

The villa had only two maids, who usually wore uniforms.

The maid returned with a black and white maid's outfit—a simple, unremarkable garment.

The maid watched, jaw dropped, as Iker took the clothes and wheeled toward the bathroom.

"You can go," he ordered coldly.

While showering, Cheyenne was unaware of the events outside. After turning off the faucet, she heard knocking.

"Knock knock knock…"

"Clothes!"

That low, magnetic voice could only be Iker's. Why was he there?

Another knock snapped her back to reality, blushing furiously.

"You you freak, how did you end up in my room?"

"This is my room; the entire villa belongs to me." Seeing her anger, Iker smiled slowly.

Shivering, Cheyenne glared at the door.

"Achoo."

Hearing her sneeze, Iker stopped joking.

"I put the clothes at the door. Take them. I'm leaving."

"Really?"

"I have no reason to deceive you."

The sound of the wheelchair faded, followed by the closing door. Cheyenne confirmed his departure.