EVERLASTING (Charlotte's Story)

Chapter 60/207: Puzzle in Process

A chapter that warms our heart but also pains it! 

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A/N: Please note that the book names that'll pass in this chapter are all fragments from our imagination, nd belong to no authors we know off.

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A scene of Keira Lami Wright from when I had awakened on the rooftop flashed through my mind.

'Easy, there. I'd barely injected that wound of yours with some anti-inflammatory and analgesic doses. I also covered it up with sanitised medical gauze and changed your shirt, because your old shirt was soaked.' –Her words echoed through my senses.

And I gulped, the presence of Rickard Ellington Conway behind me still sending chills across my spine.

'Where did you get this bruise from?'

He... was asking about... the bruise inflicted on me by Filberto, back when he'd slashed the back of my left shoulder.

Shit. Although the wound had technically. healed, it... still left a scar because it was relatively new.

I let out a soft breath.

Relax, Charlotte.

Because he does not know about the wound.

Keira Lami Wright had covered it before he arrived, and I had it treated at the hospital before he awakened!

And assume he did learn I had been wounded on the left side of my upper back...

He could not have known the proportions and exact place of the wound.

So there was no way for him to know or be sure.

I bit my lips, forcing out the freeziest and coolest voice I could confidently muster. "I... got into an accident weeks ago, young master. Thank you for your concern."

Silent moments passed.

Very chilly, and suspiciously silent moments.

And R.E.C. moved not. Remaining in the position we were in.

I didn't move either, despite the fact that every inch of my skin was burning beneath his heated gaze.

A shudder crossed my body then, as he moved his hand, zipping the dress up, an action that resulted in my body slightly moving back towards him.

Yet he was still careful not to touch me, as he turned away, moving at his new slow, yet nevertheless harmonic pace.

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding at this, as the door fell shut behind him.

Woah... okay?

.

.

.

The other day came fast, and soon enough I found myself dragging the food trolley into the room of the one and only Rickard Ellington Conway.

Stepping in, I was surprised to find that his majesty Ellington was not in bed, but rather before the book shelves some steps away from his bed.

He was still shirtless, and his profile maintained its mouthwatering effect just as ever. He had his left hand raised up, as he moved the books with his long well-steeped fingers, roaming his sharp gaze over them.