Chapter 15

As we entered the house, we unexpectedly ran into Mrs. Anna and Ella. I instinctively tried to remove my hand from Mr. Anderson's, but he held onto it tightly, refusing to let go. It was as if he wanted to show everyone that we were connected, that he was there for me.

Mrs. Anna seemed to have some intention of approaching Mr. Anderson, but he quickly intervened, stopping her in her tracks. With a commanding tone and a hint of aggression, he questioned her, "Who sent Chloe outside in the rain?" The authority in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

Before Mrs. Anna could respond, Ella jumped in, admitting that she was the one responsible. However, before she could finish her sentence, Mrs. Anna cut Ella off, dismissing me with a derogatory comment about me being "just a maid" and that it was her job to serve. 

At that moment, something within Mr. Anderson snapped. He slammed his hand on the desk, shocking everyone in the room. It was a powerful gesture that demanded attention and respect. His voice filled with determination as he firmly stated, "Don't address her as a maid. Her name is Chloe. Treat her like a human being. Chloe's work is to take care of Emily, not to serve you both."

I was taken aback by Mr. Anderson's defense of me. I never expected him to stand up for me in such a bold way. It was a clear demonstration of his character and his commitment to treating people with dignity and respect.

As he looked at me, there was a sense of reassurance and protection in his eyes. It was at that moment that I knew I could trust him, that he truly meant it when he said he would protect me. Without saying a word, we made our way upstairs together, leaving Mrs. Anna and Ella in a state of shock.

As I stepped into Mr. Anderson's bathroom, a rush of anticipation and nerves coursed through me. It was my first time entering this intimate space, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and curiosity. The room was filled with a soft, warm glow, creating an atmosphere that seemed to hold endless possibilities.

I turned on the shower, and as the water cascaded down, I let it envelop my body. It was like a gentle caress, washing away the worries and stress of the day. The steam rose around me, creating a hazy, almost dreamlike ambiance. The sound of the water hitting the tiles echoed in the room, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the beat of my racing heart.

Emerging from the shower, I reached for the soft, fluffy towel hanging nearby. As I wrapped it around me, I couldn't help but notice the lingering scent of Mr. Anderson's cologne, a subtle reminder of his presence. It was as if his essence was imprinted on everything in the room, heightening the intensity of the moment.

Just when I thought the connection couldn't get any stronger, Mr. Anderson surprised me by offering me his polo to wear. The fabric brushed against my skin, and I couldn't deny the rush of excitement that surged through me. It was an intimate gesture, a way for him to share a part of himself with me.

And then, in a moment that felt like time stood still, he gently reached out and touched my hair. His fingers glided through the strands, sending shivers down my spine. It was a simple act, yet it held so much meaning. In that tender touch, I felt a sense of comfort and affection that transcended words.

But as the warmth of the moment enveloped us, I suddenly started coughing and sneezing. It was unexpected and slightly embarrassing, but Mr. Anderson's concern was evident. He checked my temperature, feeling the heat radiating from my body. At that moment, his care and worry for my well-being were palpable.

After my coughing fit, Mr. Anderson's concern was so evident on his face that it melted away any embarrassment I felt. Without hesitation, he rushed downstairs, disappearing for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't help but wonder what he was doing, but I trusted him implicitly.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Anderson emerged from the kitchen with a tray in his hands. Steam rose from the bowl, carrying with it the comforting aroma of homemade soup. My stomach rumbled at the delicious scent, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

He positioned me up gently against the pillows, ensuring I was comfortable and supported. As he sat down beside me, I couldn't help but notice the tenderness in his eyes. It was as if he saw through all my walls and defenses, and he genuinely cared about my well-being.

With a spoon in hand, he dipped it into the bowl of soup and brought it to my lips. The warmth of the liquid spread through my body, soothing both my throat and my soul. Each spoonful was a delicate dance, as he fed me slowly and attentively, making sure I was nourished and cared for.

As I sipped the soup, I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability and intimacy. The act of being fed by Mr. Anderson created a deep connection between us, one that went beyond words. It was a gesture of love and tenderness, a way for him to show his affection and support in a moment of vulnerability.

Once I finished the soup, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lay back against the pillows, feeling the softness of the fabric beneath me. And then, Mr. Anderson did something that took my breath away. He reached out and held my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.

In that simple touch, I felt a sense of comfort and security. It was as if his touch had the power to chase away any lingering worries or fears. We lay there side by side, our hands entwined, sharing a moment of quiet connection and understanding.