Chapter 82: Unyielding Affection

Vivienne's eyelashes fluttered weakly, a futile attempt to pierce the heavy veil of darkness. Despite her efforts, her body succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

When she finally awoke, unfamiliar surroundings greeted her senses. She sat up abruptly, her head heavy, her gaze darting around the room. This wasn't her room. Panic seized her. "Where am I?" she murmured.

Before she could fully consider the question, the door creaked open, and a woman entered. Her face was calm, her smile warm as she met Vivienne's gaze. "Miss Vivienne, you're awake," she said gently.

Vivienne's defenses rose instantly. "And you are?" she asked.

The woman's smile widened, unfazed by Vivienne's suspicion. "I'm the family maid. You can call me Vanessa," she replied. "Please excuse me a moment, Miss Vivienne. I'll inform Mr. Hopkins you're awake."

Before Vivienne could respond, Vanessa turned and left. The silence was brief. Heavier, more deliberate footsteps echoed in the corridor—certainly not Vanessa's.

Vivienne's gaze fixed on the doorway as Derek appeared, clad in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his tall, commanding figure. For a moment, she was frozen, staring. His presence was striking; the faint voice she'd heard before losing consciousness was indeed Derek's. It hadn't been her imagination.

"Feeling better?" Derek's deep voice broke the silence as he approached, sitting beside her, his hand resting gently on her forehead.

Vivienne gasped at the unexpected touch, gripping the sheets as if for support. "I'm fine," she murmured hoarsely, her throat dry from the lingering effects of the previous night's fever.

Without speaking, Derek picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and offered it to her. "Drink."

Before she could take a sip, Vanessa reappeared, carrying a tray. "Sir, the soup is ready."

Vivienne's eyes went to the tray, noting the simple, warm porcelain bowl. Derek stood, rolling up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. "I'll take it," he said calmly.

Vanessa smiled knowingly, glancing at Vivienne with amusement. "Miss Vivienne, if you need anything, don't hesitate." She quietly departed. An awkward silence settled over the room.

"You had acute gastroenteritis last night, resulting in a high fever," Derek explained, skillfully stirring the soup. He blew on it gently before bringing a spoonful to her lips. "Here. The doctor said you need light meals for a few days."

"I can manage," Vivienne said quickly, averting her gaze as she reached for the bowl.

But Derek didn't relent, his persistence gentle yet firm, the spoon hovering near her lips. After a moment, Vivienne yielded, opening her mouth.

The soup was bland, its warmth soothing but unremarkable. After a few spoonfuls, she shook her head. "I've had enough."

"You barely touched it," Derek countered softly, almost coaxingly. "Just a little more, then I'll take you for a walk in the garden. Deal?"

Vivienne looked up at him, her eyes tinged with reluctance, almost a plea. "But I really can't," she whispered.

Her own words surprised her. When had she last sounded so fragile? Sickness had always been a solitary battle, a weakness she suppressed. But Derek's unwavering care had unlocked something deep within her—a yearning for tenderness she hadn't realized she possessed. The words hadn't been planned; they'd flowed naturally.

Perhaps, confronted with such unyielding affection, everyone harbored a secret desire to relinquish their guard—to allow someone else to bear the burden, even for a moment.