Caught completely off guard, Evelyn Grant crashed into Preston Keaton's muscular chest and was pulled to a stop between his legs.
His muscles were so hard that the impact made Evelyn's nose sting, and her eyes instantly welled with tears.
Before she could even react, one of Preston Keaton's large hands gripped her lower back, pinning her in place. At the same time, his other hand came to rest on her forehead.
The palm of his hand felt cool, and the chill made Evelyn Grant shiver involuntarily.
His tone was cold and heavy. "You have a fever. Didn't you know?"
His voice was right beside her ear, and Evelyn Grant couldn't help but flinch. Her mind went blank. She shifted uncertainly, but his hand still held her waist fast.
At a loss, she braced her hands against his waist. Even through the expensive fabric, she could feel the firm, powerful muscles beneath—so solid they were almost hard against her palms.
Suddenly, he tilted her chin up. Preston Keaton looked down at her, his brow furrowed slightly. "What are you crying for?"
She looked utterly aggrieved.
Her glistening eyes were rimmed with red, and she blinked pitifully, her gaze soft and helpless.
Like a bullied kitten, she seemed so small in his arms, so fragile and pliant she might as well have been boneless. It was enough to make a man's heart melt.
He paused, his gaze unreadable. After a few seconds of silence, he raised a hand and gently ruffled her hair. His voice softened. "Was I being too harsh?"
His tone was gentle and lingering, laced with a hint of tender affection.
Evelyn Grant snapped back to reality and took a sharp step back, easily slipping from his embrace this time. Her heart hammered in her chest, her long lashes fluttering.
"No, it's not that. I just hit my nose. It hurts a little."
As for the fever, she genuinely hadn't noticed. It was probably from going out into the cold wind without drying her hair after she'd washed it.
Preston Keaton stood up, his imposing height instantly casting a dominating presence. The cool white light was blocked by his frame, plunging Evelyn Grant entirely into his shadow.
She didn't know why. She hadn't felt the fever before, but now a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over her. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. Evelyn Grant pressed her lips together, her throat constricting.
"Mr. Keaton, I'm going back to my room now."
Without even waiting for dinner, she turned and ran upstairs.
It looked for all the world as if she were fleeing in a panic.
Preston Keaton calmly lowered his gaze and spoke in a quiet voice to a nearby servant, "Send some light vegetables and congee up to her room. And call a doctor."
—
Evelyn Grant lay in bed, her heart still pounding from the encounter. Her mind was a chaotic mess, thick as paste; she couldn't make sense of anything.
A headache began to throb. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled over, her brow furrowed. Drenched in a cold sweat, she felt completely drained of strength.
'All I want is to sleep.'
She hadn't felt this sick just a moment ago. But even in her hazy state, she knew exactly who to blame for her misery.
'It's definitely Preston Keaton's fault for scaring me.'
She curled up under the covers, but her sleep was fitful. She vaguely sensed someone enter the room, but her eyelids were too heavy to open.
It felt as real and surreal as a bizarre dream.
It was as if she were back in Kryllos, nestled in her own bed. It felt like Yara Summers had heard she was sick and rushed over to take care of her. Pitifully seeking comfort, her hand slipped out from under the covers.
And she actually touched a hand, one that felt refreshingly cool. It was smooth like jade, and a steady coolness seeped from it into her own skin, making her instinctively grip it tighter.
She pulled it closer, pressing the cool hand to her own flushed cheek with a pitiful whimper and nuzzling it affectionately.
She let out a sigh of relief.
It was a very small, quiet sound.
"I don't feel well. My eyes hurt so much."
She whined softly, her voice thick with misery as she called out a name. "Yara."
The bedroom lights were off, with only the faint glow from the small living room filtering in.
Preston Keaton gazed down at her impassively, his pupils seeming darker and colder than the night itself.
The young woman was completely oblivious, fast asleep, whining for affection without the faintest idea whose hand she was holding.
'With him, she was distant, couldn't wait to get away, calling him "Mr. Keaton" with every breath. But with others, it seemed she was just a soft, pliable creature.'
A servant bent down, gently placed a cooling patch on Evelyn Grant's forehead, and then quietly exited the room.
Having finally found something even cooler than the hand, Evelyn Grant let go with a sigh of relief. Preston Keaton withdrew his hand. The warmth in his palm had yet to dissipate, and the memory of her soft cheek—more delicate than a feather—lingered.
His expression unreadable, he coolly pressed his hand back against her cheek.
In her dream, all was tranquil.
Then, a sudden, violent storm erupted, as if to capsize the world. Monstrous waves crashed down.
In her terror, Evelyn Grant seemed to hear a voice, flat and indifferent, by her ear.
"First Leo Lawrence, and now a Summers."
His voice was low and deep, the tone deceptively calm, yet utterly cold. "Who's next, hmm?"
In the dream, a huge, ferocious wolf lunged at her, its gaping maw wide. Evelyn Grant's eyes flew open in terror. Blinding sunlight stabbed through a gap in the curtains, and it took a long moment for her vision to focus before she was fully awake.
It was morning. Her head and eyes no longer ached; the fever had broken.
On the bedside table sat an empty water glass. A servant must have given her medicine while she was delirious.
Evelyn Grant sat up in bed, her brow furrowed as she looked down.
The sensation of holding Yara's hand in her dream last night had felt far too real.
It made her wonder if it had been a dream at all.
She had meant to ask who had looked after her so she could thank them in person, but her flight was at nine o'clock and time was tight. The thought only struck her after she was already in the car.
'Next time, then.'
「Three hours later, she landed in Kryllos.」
Yara Summers picked her up from the airport to take her to lunch.
Nothing was more relaxing than being with her best friend. After lunch, the two went to the apartment Yara was renting in Kryllos. That evening, Ryan Hayes came over with bags of groceries. The happy couple cooked together in the kitchen, with Yara popping out every so often to offer a snack to Evelyn, who was sprawled out on the sofa.
'So peaceful and wonderful.'
So Evelyn Grant snapped a photo of Yara Summers and Ryan Hayes busy in the kitchen, their backs to her, and made a social media post.
"Look at me, getting waited on."
When Yara saw it, she ran out happily and suggested, "How about we buy apartments in the same complex?"
"That way you can come scrounge for food whenever you want, and we can see each other all the time."
Evelyn Grant popped a slice of orange into her mouth. "You two are already thinking about buying a place?"
Ryan Hayes, spatula in hand and wearing a pink apron, walked over to Yara and draped an arm over her shoulder. "We have to buy sooner or later, so we might as well start looking. If we find the right place, we'll buy it."
"So you've decided to settle down in Kryllos?"
Neither of them was a Kryllosian.
"We have. After all, we've lived here for many years. It's familiar."
Yara asked in return, "You don't want to live here?"
Evelyn Grant shook her head. "I haven't decided yet."
'Kryllos is nice, but Solara is great, too.' "We'll see. I'm not in a hurry."
Meanwhile, on the top floor of Centrium Tower, Wyatt Walsh looked at the social media post on his phone and knocked gently on the door to the Chairman's Office.