Chapter 117
Chapter 117:
Two full days had passed with Helena confined to the hospital bed. Aside from Atticus occasionally checking on her, the room remained quiet. She and Alden barely exchanged a word.
In response to Valeria’s request, Atticus had paid Helena more attention than he typically did. He kept circling back to the same question, always asking if she was truly okay with Alden being in the room.
Helena didn’t want to agree to it. But her input didn’t seem to carry much weight, as Alden had practically relocated his entire office just to stay with her, refusing to leave the room even once. The only moment he left the room was when Xavier knocked. Alden would quietly slip into the hallway and give out some work-related instructions.
The moment he left, Helena gently pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. She shuffled into the bathroom, needing a moment to gather herself.
The reflection that greeted her made her pause. Her cheeks were sunken, hollowed just enough to send a jolt of concern through anyone who looked. A scab covered the wound on her forehead, leaving behind a rough, dry patch of blood. Her swollen eyes and chapped lips made her look like someone who’d been on the run for days.
She couldn’t let her father see her like this. It would break him. She was suddenly thankful that Alden had stopped her from rushing to her father.
A soft knock echoed on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright?” It was the first time Alden had taken the initiative to speak to her in the past two days.
Her fingers froze as she reached for the buttons of her shirt, a brief tremble running through her hand. After a moment, she spoke softly. “I’m fine. Please, don’t come in p>
Alden’s voice cut through the silence, tinged with concern. “What are you doing in there p>
Heat rushed to Helena’s neck. Knowing Alden like she did, she understood he wouldn’t let it go until she gave him an answer. She paused for a few seconds before speaking up. “I want to take a shower p>
There was no immediate response from the other side of the door. When Alden finally spoke, his tone was cautious. “You know you can’t let your wounds get wet, right p>
“I’m aware. I’ll handle it carefully p>
Helena had never been one to obsess over cleanliness, but she had spent two days locked in the Simpson family’s basement, and not even the hospital gown could hide the grime, sweat, and the lingering scent of damp concrete.
The soft padding of Alden’s footsteps drifted through the silence as he moved around outside. Not long after, he returned and stood at the bathroom door.
“I brought you some fresh underwear p>
Without a word, Helena cracked the door open just enough to reach through. Her heart skipped when she saw Alden’s hand holding out the underwear, and her cheeks turned red on instinct.
She almost forgot how, back home, he would carefully wash and hang her most personal garments, his delicate hands steady and precise every time.
As he held the fabric out, Alden felt something brush against his skin, a faint, tender sensation he couldn’t quite explain. For a split second, the image of Helena’s flushed face flickered in his mind, her eyes once again alive with emotion.
Then the door shut with a soft click.
Leaning gently against the doorframe, he said in a low voice, “If you need help, just say so. I don’t mind p>
“I’m good, thanks p>
Though her voice was edged with frustration, Alden couldn’t help smiling, the expression slipping onto his face without hesitation. What was supposed to be a quick ten-minute shower stretched into a tedious half-hour one.
She stayed quiet, silently hoping Alden would get the hint and walk away from the door. But the sound of his footsteps never came. Just as he was probably about to knock again, Helena gave in and cracked the door open. He was still standing there, his eyes full of patience.
Alden’s expression remained unreadable, though his voice came out softer than she expected. “Is it still painful p>
Helena didn’t answer out loud. She lowered her gaze and gave a slight shake of her head.
Without meeting his eyes, she turned and hurried back to the bed, keeping her head bowed so he wouldn’t notice how warm her cheeks still were.
Alden moved behind her, carefully adjusting the bed to lift her slightly for more comfort. He reached out, placed a steady hand at her waist, and slid a pillow behind her lower back for support.
His movements were smooth and familiar, so much so that Helena might’ve forgotten to push him away if not for that fleeting second when their breaths met. She reminded herself this was all an illusion. Alden had said it himself—she meant nothing to him.
So why did her chest tighten at these small, meaningless gestures?
Helena almost laughed at herself for being so naive. While she sat there doubting everything, Alden had quietly brought over some of her favorite books. He’d even included a few newly published comic volumes.
Yet somehow, her phone was still nowhere in sight.
Cut off from the outside world for days, Helena couldn’t help but wonder if Alden really thought she was easy to control—the kind of wife he wanted.
Alden watched her in silence, something in his gaze shifting as if he could sense Helena wanted to say something. The sharpness in his eyes gave way to something gentler, as he waited for her to speak.
Helena didn’t look at him. She said, keeping her voice light, “How’s Gemma p>
The image of that day flashed through her mind—Gemma’s car speeding down the wrong side of the road after she had thrown herself out of it. It was possible that a serious accident had followed soon after.
If she couldn’t visit her father, the least she could do was check on Gemma. There were things she needed to hear directly from her.
A flicker of worry crossed Alden’s face. “She’s still alive,” he said, his brow furrowing in concern.