Chapter 7

In that suspenseful moment, the silence stretched on, and I couldn't bear it any longer. Slowly, I raised the cup to my lips and took another sip, this time trying to hide my distaste. Mr. Anderson continued to stare at me, his eyes filled with an enigmatic mix of emotions. I could feel the weight of his gaze like he was trying to unravel the truth behind my words. With a deep breath, I summoned all my courage and mustered a forced smile. Looking Mr. Anderson straight in the eye, I confidently declared, "See, it's not bitter, Mr. Anderson."Silence hung in the air as if time itself paused to witness the tension between us. The room felt heavy with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions. Mr. Anderson's piercing gaze never wavered, intensifying the unease in the room. I tried to maintain my composure, but inside, my heart was racing, and my mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts. What was he thinking? Did he believe me? Or was he seeing right through my façade? And then, finally, breaking the silence, Mr. Anderson spoke, his voice carrying a mix of disappointment and resignation. "You can leave," he said, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. At that moment, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Relief mixed with a tinge of sadness, as I realized that my attempt to prove something had only deepened the divide between us.

Without saying another word, I turned and left, feeling the weight of his gaze lingering on my back. As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what would come next... 

It was dawn already, my mind was buzzing with thoughts and I couldn't sleep. I decided to sneak my way to the kitchen and grab a refreshing bottle. As I stood there in the kitchen, my heart was racing, I couldn't help but feel a mix of concern and confusion. Mr Anderson, the enigmatic and mysterious man was suddenly in front of me, holding out a bottle of water"I know what you are here for, "his voice dripping with a combination of coldness and intrigue. It sent shivers down my spine. How can someone be cold and sweet at the same time? Before I could process his words, he swiftly turned and started ascending the staircase. But something didn't seem right. He stopped abruptly, clutching his chest. Concern flooded over me, overriding any apprehension I had towards him. Without a second thought, I rushed to his side. "mr Anderson are you okay?"I asked, my voice filled with genius worry. His response was short and dismissive. "I'm okay," he said, his voice strained. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something. His temperature felt alarmingly high as my hand touched his body. "Mr Anderson you are not feeling fine, let me call the doctor, "I pleaded, my concern growing. But his reaction caught off-guard. He removed his hand from mine and his tone turned sharp, almost accusing. "who gave you the right to touch me?" he snapped, his hand laced with both frustration and vulnerability. I recoiled, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. It was as if he was pushing me away, refusing any help or support. But I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. I reached out again, gently holding his hand, my voice filled with determination. "let me help you," I insisted, my eyes searching his for any sign of acceptance. It was a risky move, but I couldn't ignore the connection that had formed between us. "Chloe, you are so stubborn," he muttered, his voice softer this time. And then, without warning, he collapsed, his body falling against mine. Panic surged through me as I struggled to support his weight, my mind racing with worry and fear. 

As I vividly carried Mr. Anderson to his room, his weight pressing against my tired muscles, I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. The urgency to call the doctor tugged at my mind, but Mr. Anderson's resistance halted me in my tracks. At that moment, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.

Descending the stairs, my heart raced with a mix of worry and determination. I hurriedly prepared a warm, comforting soup, hoping it would nourish Mr. Anderson's weakened body. With water and a towel in hand, I rushed back to his room, ready to tend to his needs.

Gently, I cleaned his body, my touch careful and tender. The sound of his murmured words, barely audible, sent chills down my spine. "Chloe," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. I reassured him, urging him not to waste his strength, for I knew the battle he was facing.

Bringing the soup I had prepared, I approached him with a mix of hope and uncertainty. "Mr. Anderson, please, you must eat," I pleaded, my voice laced with concern. "For the sake of Emily, can you find it in you to take a few bites?" His refusal echoed in the room, a silent testament to his stubbornness. With determination in my eyes, I gently guided the spoon toward his lips, urging him to open his mouth. And to my surprise, he relented. The taste of victory mingled with the soup as he allowed me to feed him. 

As I finished clearing the soup bowl from the desk, I stood up, ready to leave Mr. Anderson's room. But then, he softly uttered my name, his voice filled with a sense of vulnerability. "Chloe, can you stay?" he asked, and without hesitation, I turned back and took a seat at his bedside. The room was dimly lit, casting a gentle glow over the somber atmosphere... "I don't sleep at night, I have insomnia," he confessed, his words hanging in the air. My eyes widened in surprise as his revelation sank in. I remained silent, simply looking at him, absorbing the weight of his admission. It was a moment of unexpected intimacy, where the lines between employer and employee blurred, and we connected on a deeper level.

Insomnia was a relentless companion that haunted his nights. I couldn't help but empathize with the struggle he faced, the exhaustion that must have worn him down over the years. The thought of spending countless sleepless nights, yearning for rest, was both heartbreaking and in. intriguing.