Howard saw me wince and stepped closer to help.
“Didn’t you call me to handle the situation?”
Gripping his hand, I instantly broke into a cold sweat.
I was nervous, but I tried to play it cool. “Lance and his fiancée trashed my house—”
But before I could repeat my words, he cut me off. “I heard it. I’ll take care of it. Focus on recovering first.”
Over the next few days, to my utter disbelief, Howard took it upon himself to look after me at the hospital.
“Sir, really, compensation is enough. You don’t need to go this far,” I mumbled as he was slicing fruit for me.
He paused, the knife hovering mid-air. “You’re sure about that?”
His gaze carried a strange intensity, making me hesitate. Before I could respond, he finished cutting the fruit and—horror of horrors—reached for my personal laundry to wash it.
Panicking, I shot out of bed. “I’ll do it myself!”
I moved so quickly that I stumbled straight into his arms. Luckily, he caught me, careful to avoid the bandages on my back.
“Take care of yourself,” he said gently, holding me in place.