Chapter 2 I'm Out of Your League

Mia froze.

Her heart skipped a beat as she met his eyes-his sculpted face looked even more striking under the muted bathroom lighting.

She hadn't anticipated this moment when she wheeled him in.

It wasn't out of her job description, not by a long shot. She'd done similar things before. But this time, she was taking care of someone young. Someone... absurdly good-looking.

Despite the persona she'd put on-wearing deliberately dull clothes, telling others she was thirty when she was actually twenty-two-she still looked very young. One who'd never been intimate with anyone.

Her thoughts flickered dangerously.

Then Henry spoke again, snapping her back to earth. "Don't stare at me like you're about to hold me. Let's get one thing straight-you don't even qualify to fantasize about me! So, whatever thoughts are running through your head, kill them now. I'm miles out of your league!"

And just like that, his haughty words shattered whatever had briefly stirred in Mia's mind.

She blinked.

"Did he really just brush her off like that?

She took a breath and said lightly, "Mr. Carter, I think you've misunderstood me. I was just a little embarrassed, not... whatever it is you're assuming."

"You? Shy?"

Henry Carter's voice dripped with sarcasm as he raised a brow at Mia Brock.

"You dragged me in here deliberately, didn't you?"

Mia's lips twitched, barely hiding her frustration.

"I told you earlier, Steward Mason isn't feeling well. That's the only reason I stepped in."

"And I'm supposed to buy that?" Henry scoffed, his tone steeped in doubt.

"You've barely been working here a handful of days. So don't act like you've bonded with Steward Mason overnight."

She clenched her jaw but didn't answer. There was no reasoning with this man. No matter what she said, he'd find a way to twist it.

"I'll just do it," she said flatly.

She moved closer, knelt slightly, and with one hand gently steadying his side, she lowered his pajama bottoms with the other.

Henry's body stiffened immediately, discomfort rippling through him.

His head turned slightly toward her, and his eyes hovered over the crown of her head. Her thick bangs concealed her expression, but from this angle, he noticed the delicate quality of her skin - smooth and faintly flushed.

He'd heard from Steward Mason that she was already thirty.

How could this woman be thirty?

She was far too youthful than her age.

Could a woman be this beautiful with soft and luminous skin in her thirties?

A subtle scent drifted to his nose. It was light, like pear blossoms, clean and unassuming. Not the artificial sweetness of perfume, but something gentle and refreshing, not associated with a mature woman.

Her hand on his hip was featherlight, so gentle that for a second he imagined she didn't have bones at all.

His mind flickered, betraying him. He immediately shook the thought away, disturbed by how his focus had wandered to someone he barely knew.

Redirecting the conversation abruptly, he said, "Since you're thirty, I assume you've got a husband and maybe even a kid?"

"No," Mia replied quietly.

Her gaze was fixed firmly away from his lower half. Once she'd done her part, she turned her head sharply to the side.

Henry's eyes lingered on her for a moment. "With your lack of fashion sense, I can't say I'm shocked that you're still single."

"I'm used to it," Mia said calmly, her expression unreadable.

Her indifference annoyed him.

For a second, he didn't know how to respond. He had expected her to defend herself or at least show a trace of emotion, but instead, the conversation seemed to fizzle out.

"You can leave now," he said dismissively. "I'll call you when I'm done."

Mia quietly exited the bathroom and headed downstairs to retrieve a broom.

On her return, she began sweeping up the shattered pieces of a cup from the bedroom floor, moving swiftly and efficiently.

Before long, she re-entered the bathroom.

Henry was still seated on the toilet, his pajama pants slightly drawn up for modesty.

Mia returned to her earlier task, gently supporting his side as she helped him pull up his pants and positioned him back into the wheelchair.

Despite his irritation at being physically handled, Henry didn't protest, he knew he didn't have another option.

Once she had transferred him to the bed and made sure he was settled, he turned to her with a frown.

"If Steward Mason asks tomorrow whether I got up during the night, you'll say no. I don't want anyone else knowing I needed help from a woman."

"...Alright," she agreed softly, biting back her thoughts.

'So concerned about appearances,' she mused silently. 'His ego's larger than the entire house.'

"I want water," he declared suddenly. "Go fetch me a glass."

She let out a soft sigh.

"Mr. Carter, you've already had two full glasses tonight. Drinking this much is exactly why you keep waking up in the middle of the night.

It disturbs your rest. And excessive water intake can lead to bloating, which may not be good for your condition."

Henry shot her a look, his tone growing colder. "So that's your excuse? You're trying to get out of helping me in the middle of the night, aren't you? Don't think I don't see through you."

"That's not what I meant," Mia said, exasperated. "I only brought it up for your own benefit. Frequent disruptions to your sleep won't help your recovery."

He huffed, clearly unconvinced.

"You think I drink this much because I want to? Ever since I was a child, even a dry mouth made me miserable. I can't sleep unless it feels moist. And I don't bloat. I never have! My body's used to it."

Mia blinked. For a moment, she truly didn't know how to respond.

'Is this some kind of water addiction?' she thought wryly.

"Have you ever considered cutting back?" she asked gently.

"No," Henry shot back immediately, firm and final.

Mia Brock reluctantly trudged down the stairs to fetch a glass of water for Henry.

As she descended, she couldn't help but mentally remind herself that she needed to find a solution fast. Being awake most nights was starting to wear her down, and her youthfulness couldn't protect her forever from burnout or worse.

The next morning, when she came downstairs, breakfast was already set.

The long dining table gleamed under the light, and the spread looked extravagant, with an assortment of both traditional and Western dishes neatly arranged like a luxury hotel buffet.

Since Chloe was assigned to handle Mr. Carter's breakfast, Mia could finally take a short breath.

"Mia, this one's yours," Chloe called out, gesturing toward a portion that had been set aside at the far end of the table.

"Thank you, Chloe," Mia said gratefully, taking her tray and settling into her seat.

Chloe was a kind-hearted woman in her middle years.

For Mia, she had thoughtfully prepared soft-boiled eggs, toasted bread, some sweetcorn, and a glass of milk.

After such a rough night with barely a wink of sleep, the sight of real food sent Mia's stomach into noisy protests.

Still, she didn't dive into her food immediately. Instead, she waited until Chloe brought a bowl of warm porridge to Henry and began spoon-feeding him. Once that task had started, Mia began eating slowly and carefully.

Henry was clearly sleep-deprived himself and wasn't in the best of moods. He managed only half a bowl of porridge and a single egg before pushing the rest away in boredom.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mia eating across from him.

She was enjoying her breakfast with obvious enthusiasm, taking hearty bites of sweetcorn and alternating it with generous sips of milk.

Her expression was one of contentment - too much contentment, in fact.

'How irritating,' Henry thought.

Her calm enjoyment grated on his nerves, that he drummed his fingers against his lap impatiently before shifting his gaze toward Chloe in fury.