008

“How do you put up with him?” I asked with a distasteful expression, staring at the cook as I stood across from her at the countertop.

The older woman was the only person that seemed interesting enough to engage in conversation with, among the house staff.

She did not shake at the mention of the ‘master’ like the rest of the maids.

For some reason, she looked… saddened at my question.

“It’s what I get paid to do,” she answered shortly.

I gave her a blank gaze, sensing that there was something more to it.

With her skills, I’m sure that she could work anywhere else if she wanted.

“Mr. Conrad has not always been so…”

“Infuriating?” I quickly supplied with raised eyebrows.

She shook her head, pursing her lips.

“I have worked in this house for a few years and he has not always been like this. He used to be much more considerate, but quiet. He never spoke to the staff except when he was making a request, always polite and kept to himself even after Mr. Zoran’s death, but everything changed drastically after his accident,” she passed with a slight crease in her eyebrows.

“When he returned from the hospital, there was this dark ambience he brought with him, brooding and looking sullen. He became irritable, snapping at everybody and acting the way he does now. I know that this is a result of the accident, so I cannot fault him for his behavior, even more, I sympathize with him,” she expressed with a tone that clearly displayed her sentiments.

I nodded my head in understanding as I listened to her, but I could not seem to empathize with him in the same way she did.

Why should I?

Even if I put myself in her shoes, I could not imagine spending hours on making different meals for him only to have them thrown against the wall because he was ‘in his feelings.’

But I kept this to myself, humming quietly.

“It’s a relief, the young master has been eating just meals since you arrived. Whatever you’re doing, please, keep doing it,” she expressed with a small smile.

I hid the smirk that threatened to escape at her words.

Keep putting him in his place?

Already on it.

I got bored of the conversation very quickly, exiting the kitchen soon after with an excuse to check up on Conrad.

According to the doctor, he was going to need some physio after his leg healed so that he would be able to walk on his own two feet again, but until then, I needed to ensure that it was healing nicely.

So I made my way to his room, letting out an exhale before knocking on the door.

Silence.

I knocked again.

“Who is it?” He snapped with an annoyed tone.

That was enough for me to know that he had intentionally ignored the first knock.

“It’s Aletheia,” I replied, already pushing the door open.

It was not like he was going to let me in otherwise.

“I just had lunch a little while ago, I’m not hungry,” he said as I stepped into the room.

“You seemed to have forgotten that I’m not here to serve your meals, I’m here to progress your treatment. Making you eat is just me offering a helping hand to your maids and cook that seem to be very concerned about you,” I clarified plainly.

His eyebrows furrowed at my words and I could see the tick of his jaw, but he said nothing in reply, sitting stiffly against the headboard with his back propped by pillows.

I stepped closer at his silence, resting a palm on his cast-enclosed leg gently.

“What are you doing?” He demanded in an annoyed tone, trying to nudge my hands off his foot, but I could see that the action caused him pain, judging by the pinch in his eyebrows.

“You’re supposed to keep your leg elevated so sit still and let me do my job, for both of our sakes,” I huffed, grabbing one of the pillows at his side and propping his leg on it.

He grumbled underneath his breath, but complied.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude, ensuring that his cast was in good condition before rising to my feet again.

As I moved toward the door, I was halted by his voice.

“Wait!” He called out, stopping me in place.

I turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, although he could not see my expression, which made it more fun to make them.

“What?” I asked, after a few seconds without him saying anything.

“Oh, I thought you left,” he muttered looking bitter for some reason.

I could tell that there was something he wanted to say but for some reason, which were more than I could count, he was holding himself back.

His fingers twitched by his sides and he shifted stiffly, showing his discomfort.

“There is uh,”

He hesitated, looking like it pained him to utter those words.

Silence.

I let out a sharp exhale,

“If you’re not going to speak, I would much rather take my leave. I have things to do,” I muttered already moving in the direction of the door.

“What things?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

I held back an eye roll.

Of course he knew that there was nothing else for me to do except tend to him.

Yet I could not help but feel offended by the question.

I let out a scoff.

“My life does not revolve around you, so you better speak now or I will leave.” I threatened, already a few steps away from the door.

I heard the sheets rustle behind me as he shifted again, the tension in his posture betraying him.

 His hands clenched at his sides as if he were holding something back, something he was too proud to ask for.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

His leg.

The cast.

It had to be itching like crazy.

I resisted the urge to smirk.

“You’re uncomfortable,” I said matter-of-factly, taking a few steps back toward the bed.

He didn’t look at me, but I could tell from the way his fingers twitched that he was trying to ignore it.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though there was a slight tremor in his voice that betrayed his words.

“You sure about that?” I asked, folding my arms, amused by his prideful stubbornness.

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped.

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

His jaw clenched harder.

“You don’t have to suffer in silence, you know,” I said, my voice teasing. “It’s just an itch.”

His body tensed further. “I don’t need your help.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us like an unspoken challenge.

But then, just as I turned to leave, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Wait!”

I tilted my head to give him a brief glance. 

He cleared his throat. “Can you... help me?”