Chapter 7

Aletheia Kings

“We're here,”

My eyes snapped to the window as we pulled into the sprawling driveway.

The car slowed to a stop and Lincon shot me a glance with a smile, before stepping out of the car.

I let out a sigh before mirroring his movements, however, before I could push the door open, it was already opened with the driver standing on the other side.

With my eyes roaming, I stepped into the car, muttering a quiet “thank you,” to the young man.

“Welcome to your new home!” Lincoln announced  beside me, grabbing my attention.

I let out a silent scoff.

“I would rather regard it as my place of work,” I retorted in the most polite tone I could muster at the present, which was not much.

He looked amused at my demeanor for some reason.

I realised then that he was hiring me with an offer I could not refuse, so I was to be more polite.

Quickly composing myself, I fixed my expression and cleared my throat quietly.

“Come along, the help will bring your things in,” and as if on cue, two women dressed in maid uniforms stepped out of the front doors and made their way over to us.

I watched them tight lipped, knowing that they would be disappointed to see my one suitcase.

Clothes were the last thing I spent money on, not with all the debt that weighed heavily on me.

Turning my gaze to Lincoln I gave him a nod before following him into the house.

My eyes trailed over every corner that reeked of opulence and wealth as we went.

“Although I must warn you that my brother will not be very pleased to meet you,”

I shot him a puzzled look for a second.

Of course I was sure that everybody will be glad to be disabled, and needing the help of a nurse to function daily. Cue the sarcasm.

But I did not say this, choosing to remain quiet instead.

“Who is it?” The unfamiliar voice asked harshly almost immediately after we stepped through the door.

We rounded the corner to the sight of a man sitting on a wheelchair with a deep frown on his face.

Somehow looking even more attractive than he was in the hospital, dressed in some comfortable clothes that were nothing like the hospital clothes.

With the bandages removed from his head, and just  bandaid on his forehead, I felt the strange urge to run my hands through his silky hair.

His eyes were covered by a silky blindfold which I paused for a second. For some reason, the blindfold made him appear detached from the world.

I guess it was his own way of coping with his condition.

“It's your brother, Cee,” Lincoln answers beside me with a smile.

“I can tell that you're not alone, what do you want?” He spat the word out with such annoyance that I had a feeling that he already knew what his brother was up to.

“Remember that discussion we had about getting you some… help?”

My eyes cut across to him at the mention of being regarded as “the help”.

I was not anybody's maid.

So I stepped forward, clearing my throat quietly.

“I'm Aletheia, and I am your nurse to aid you through your recovery-” 

“I told you that I don't want any help!” He raised his voice in indignation, cutting me off before I could complete my sentence.

If he wasn’t sitting in that wheelchair, I imagined he’d be storming across the room, slamming doors, making it clear just how unwelcome I was.

Instead, his hands clenched around the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white beneath the pressure. His jaw was tight, his entire body rigid, as though my mere presence infuriated him.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the tense atmosphere in the room.

“I understand that this is not easy for you,” I said, keeping my voice even, though I doubted he cared.

 “But I’m here to do my job, not to inconvenience you.”

Conrad scoffed, tilting his head slightly, though his blindfold hid whatever expression might have flashed across his face. “Your job?” 

He let out a humorless laugh. “And what exactly does your job entail? Wiping my ass? Patting my head like I’m some helpless child?”

Lincoln sighed beside me, but I remained unmoved, refusing to let his words get under my skin.

“Your job,” Conrad continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “is to stay out of my way.”

“Actually, my job is to make sure you don’t end up in a worse condition than you already are.” My tone remained firm but calm.

“I’ll be the one ensuring you don’t fall over and crack your skull open when you try to act like you don’t need assistance.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Lincoln let out a small chuckle, likely sensing the tension thickening between us. “Alright, alright, let’s not kill each other before you’ve even been here a full hour.”

I shot Lincoln a glance, but he was already patting Conrad’s shoulder with forced ease. “She’s staying, Cee. You need someone to help you.”

“I don't need anything.” Conrad’s voice was lowered but still stern all the same.

Lincoln hesitated for a moment, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

Conrad let out another scoff as if the mere suggestion was ridiculous. “There’s nothing to get acquainted with. She won’t last the week.”

His confidence was almost amusing. Almost.

Lincoln patted my shoulder lightly. “Good luck,” he murmured before turning and striding out of the room, leaving me alone with a man who already loathed my presence.

The room was enveloped with silence.

I studied him for a moment; His blindfold was tied neatly around his head, the silky material blending into his dark hair. Without the hospital gown, he looked even more like the man I’d heard about, Conrad Sinclair, billionaire heir, cold businessman, and now, an injured man who had no idea how to accept help.

His chest rose and fell evenly, but his fingers twitched slightly, as if he were holding himself back from reacting further.

“Are you done staring?” he asked suddenly, turning his head slightly in my direction.

“I’m just assessing my patient.”

“I’m not your patient.”

“You are,” I corrected smoothly. “Whether you like it or not.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and I could tell he was trying to rein in his frustration. He gritted his teeth before snapping, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

Then, as if on cue, one of the maids who had been lingering nearby stepped forward, her hands resting lightly on the handles of his wheelchair. 

Without another word, she turned him around and began pushing him toward the hallway.

I watched them disappear around the corner, his broad shoulders tense as he was wheeled away.

I had worked with difficult patients before, but this—this was something else entirely.