Chapter 3 Are You Hurt

It was only then that Rowan realized the woman in his arms wasn't Phoebe-it was the young servant.

His brow furrowed slightly. This was the second time he had mistaken the two.

Just then, a voice called from outside, "Mrs. Hayes."

Phoebe was here!

Panic surged through Baila. Rowan's hands were still firmly on her waist, and she acted on instinct, grasping his arms and pushing them away. "Mr. Hayes, please let go. Mrs. Hayes is coming."

His grip was strong, unyielding. As Baila's fingers fumbled against his wrist, they brushed against the cold steel of his watch. The smooth, luxurious surface sent a shiver through her fingertips.

Rowan let Baila go. As she turned, her finger caught on the sharp thorns of a rose branch.

A crimson bead of blood welled up on her fingertip.

Rowan blinked as he watched her uneasy expression. She always seemed afraid of him-head down, body tense, avoiding his eyes.

And yet, he remembered her alluring eyes. Those expressive eyes could captivate anyone who dared to look too long.

"Are you hurt?" Rowan asked.

"It's nothing. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Hayes," Baila replied, slipping her fingertip into her mouth to stop the bleeding.

Rowan looked at her lips.

They were soft and full, tinged with a natural, enticing redness.

A glint flashed across Rowan's eyes.

At that moment, Phoebe entered the room. The sight of Rowan and Baila standing together sent a flicker of anger through her face. Without hesitation, she snapped, "Baila, what are you doing here? Get to the kitchen where you belong!"

"Yes," Baila said before quickly turning and leaving.

Phoebe turned to Rowan, flashing a sweet smile. "Honey, let's go and have breakfast together."

Rowan said nothing, striding toward the dining room.

***

In the kitchen, Baila focused on steadying her breath. For a moment, she had been sure Rowan had recognized her. But in the end, it turned out he had simply mistaken her for Phoebe. That was good.

She had no interest in provoking a man as dangerous as Rowan. All she wanted was to get her grandmother back and leave here.

"Baila, bring out the milk."

As soon as Baila stepped inside the dining room with the milk, she heard Phoebe's voice, dripping with disdain. "Baila is just an ugly woman from the countryside. People avoid her the moment they see her. That face is enough to disgust anyone. I'm the only one kind enough to keep her around as a servant."

Baila's face remained unchanged. She was used to Phoebe always putting her down to boost her own image. Without reacting, she glanced toward Rowan.

Seated at the head of the table, Rowan was absorbed in the business newspaper. At thirty, his appeal wasn't just in his refined, chiseled features-it was also in the quiet authority he radiated.

Phoebe's words didn't seem to reach him. He remained focused on the newspaper.

Baila exhaled slightly, relieved. Then, her eyes drifted to Phoebe. The woman's face, sculpted by plastic surgery, bore a forced perfection.

***

During the day, Baila attended Yangton University. As soon as her last class ended, she rushed out of the campus gates, standing by the roadside in hopes of catching a taxi back to Imperial Manor.

But none of the passing taxis stopped. Just as she was about to give up, a sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of her.

The world-class luxury car, worth tens of millions, gave off a quiet, unmistakable opulence. The rear window slid down, revealing a familiar, handsome face. Aldous Hayes said, "Ugly duckling, trying to get a cab? Get in. I'll give you a ride."

Ugly duckling. That was what everyone called Baila.

Aldous wasn't just Baila's classmate-he was also the campus heartthrob.

With no taxis stopping, Baila believed he had little choice. Letting out a silent sigh, she opened the car door to get in. "Thank you."

However, the moment she slid into the backseat, she regretted it.

Because sitting in the driver's seat was Rowan.

This was his car.

Aldous smirked. "Ugly duckling, meet my uncle, Rowan."

Baila blinked, stunned.

Rowan was Aldous's uncle?

She hadn't expected this at all.

"Uncle Rowan, meet my classmate, Baila," Aldous said. "She's had a huge crush on me for ages. And guess what? She even wrote me a love letter today. Here, let me read it to you."

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled a folded letter from his pocket.

Baila's eyes widened. What love letter? She hadn't written anything like that.

It took her only a second to realize what had really happened-one of her classmates must have played a prank on her, writing a love letter in her name and slipping it to Aldous.

Aldous had already begun his exaggerated reading. "Dear Aldous," he said, pausing for effect. "I really like you. I adore your sexy lips and want to kiss you. I dream about your six-pack abs and want to rip your clothes off. I know I'm not beautiful, but I'm gentle and sweet. Please let me be your girlfriend. Forever yours, your ugly duckling, Baila Nelson."

Baila was mortified.

Her fingers curled into fists, and she instinctively glanced ahead. Rowan was at the wheel, seemingly indifferent. He had just come from a business meeting, still dressed sharply in a black overcoat layered over a matching suit. A luxury tassel brooch gleamed against the fabric.

His hands gripped the steering wheel with ease, shifting lanes effortlessly.

Then, as if he had sensed Baila's gaze-or perhaps he was reacting to the absurd letter-Rowan's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

For a fleeting second, their gazes met.

In an instant, Baila's pulse spiked. She quickly averted her eyes. But it was too late. The memory of that night at the hotel surged back-his hands gripping her waist, his body pressing close, the look in his eyes...

That look-dark, intense, possessive-like a predator locking onto its prey.

Without thinking, Baila yanked the letter out of Aldous's hands, resisting the urge to shove him out of the moving car.

In fact, Aldous had noticed Baila long ago. Despite being ridiculed by many at Yangton University, Baila never seemed affected. She carried herself with a quiet detachment, which made her stand out even more.

"Ugly duckling, I never knew you liked me this much. Alright then, let's make it official. You're my girlfriend now," Aldous said aloud, slinging an arm over Baila's shoulder.

Baila barely had time to react before the car jerked to a sharp stop, tires skidding against the pavement as Rowan pulled over by the roadside.

"Aldous, get out," Rowan said, his voice low and commanding.

Aldous blinked. "Uncle Rowan, I'm not home yet."

"Are your legs broken? You can walk back," Rowan said.

Aldous hesitated for a beat, then sighed in resignation. He knew better than to cross his uncle. He released Baila and stepped out. "See you tomorrow, ugly duckling. I'll take you on our first date! Later, Uncle Rowan!"

Rowan hit the gas, and the car sped off.

Now, only Baila and Rowan remained in the luxury car. Rowan said nothing, eyes locked on the road ahead. Baila sat stiffly.

Fifteen minutes later, the Rolls-Royce pulled up to the gate of Imperial Manor.

Rowan stepped out first. Baila hesitated before also getting out of the car. Just then, Rowan said in a deep voice, "Stay away from my nephew."

Startled, Baila looked up, but Rowan had already disappeared inside.

She lowered her lashes. So, he really thought she had written that ridiculous letter. Did he believe she was just some desperate woman, throwing herself at men?

***

Rowan returned to his study, finishing up the last of his work before heading to his bedroom. Yet, as he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep evaded him.

The faint fragrance that had once lingered on the sheets was gone. And without it, his insomnia returned.

With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing his phone and making a call. "Send Phoebe upstairs."

Downstairs, Phoebe nearly jumped with excitement. She wasted no time showing off, rushing straight to Baila with a smug grin. "Guess what? My husband just asked for me. Looks like I'll be spending the night with him."