015: Owen Moreland Accompanies

Stephen Murphy had left, and Dorothy Brown wasn't present either; the hospital room was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

Amelia Clarke felt that with Owen Moreland was in the room, even the air felt wrong.

After a moment of silence, she suddenly remembered what Mia Taylor had said on the phone during the day. Biting her lip, she softly said, "Mr. Moreland... um, about Ciara Taylor's situation, thank you."

Although she didn't specify what the situation was, Owen understood.

He glanced at her and uttered a faint "hmm".

Truly a man of few words.

Amelia sat leaning against the headboard. After a while, her buttocks and back grew weary and sore. After quietly shifting her position several times, Owen remained sitting on the sofa, engrossed in a finance magazine, showing no signs of leaving.

She stealthily checked her phone for the time, and it was already eight-thirty.

There was a series of fireworks bursting 'bang bang' outside the window, Amelia finally couldn't help but carefully ask, "Um... when will Dorothy Brown return?"

After having dinner, Dorothy Brown had mentioned something had come up at home and she had left.

She wasn't sure if Dorothy Brown would come back.

Owen looked up, his deep gaze fixing on her. Amelia's heart clenched, and she quickly lowered her head, not daring to meet his eyes.

His gaze was piercing as if it could see through to the deepest part of one's soul.

Amelia felt exposed, and it made her quite uncomfortable.

After a moment, Owen said indifferently, "She won't be coming tonight."

"She won't be coming?" Amelia had considered that answer, but was still somewhat surprised; however, she quickly came to terms with it.

Dorothy Brown was neither family nor a friend; she had taken care of her as part of arrangements made by Owen. It wasn't unreasonable if she didn't come to care for her, and Amelia had no right, no entitlement to demand anything of others.

But...

Uncle Moreland, why aren't you leaving?

Amelia wanted to ask but knew that once she did, it might seem as if she was trying to shoo him away.

Trying to shoo away Owen Moreland?

She didn't dare.

As time passed, Amelia grew increasingly restless, her agitation making it hard to sit still.

Finally sensing her annoyed mood, Owen magnanimously asked her, "Are you tired?"

Amelia's heart leaped with joy, and she eagerly nodded: Please go! Please just go! Once he left, she could sleep.

"Go wash up in the bathroom and try to get some sleep early," Owen said as he put away the magazine and stood up.

Amelia subconsciously thought he was leaving, felt a rush of joy again, and went off to the bathroom.

The hospital's heating was sufficient, with hot water available 24 hours in the bathroom, and all washing supplies were provided. Amelia put on a disposable shower cap, took a quick shower, and washed her undergarments, hanging them on a clotheshorse.

Thinking that Owen had definitely left, she didn't put on a bra or overcoat but instead exited the bathroom directly in her thermal underwear, holding the rest of her clothes, ready to get straight into bed.

Her body, in the prime of her twenties, was well-proportioned—her curves alluringly highlighted by the snug and springy thermal wear.

Simple clothing created a not-so-simple visual experience.

Unexpectedly, as soon as she stepped out, she saw Owen drinking water. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie. Two buttons on his white shirt were undone, revealing a hint of his chest. As he drank, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and he exuded casual ease and sensuality, a stark contrast to his usual restrained and formal appearance.

But, at that moment, regardless of how attractive he looked, Amelia was in no mood to appreciate it.

Caught off guard, she blurted out, "Why haven't you left yet?"

Owen put down his glass, and his profound gaze met hers. Upon seeing Amelia in her state, his narrow eyes briefly narrowed, and then, as if nothing had happened, he turned his gaze away.

No sooner had the words left Amelia's mouth than she regretted them.

The man across from her was Owen Moreland, an intimidating individual whom few dared to offend, and she had just questioned him in such a tone.

Biting her lip, Amelia softly explained, "I... I didn't mean it that way, I just... I didn't expect you had not left yet. I mean, you're such a busy man, aren't you tired? Shouldn't you be going home to rest?"

No response came to this remark.

Amelia Clarke glanced up at Owen Moreland, only to see him walking towards the balcony without indicating when he would leave, leaving her somewhat uncertain about his intentions.

She bit her lip in frustration and asked again, "Um, Mr. Moreland, when are you planning to go back to rest?"

Owen stopped in front of the sliding door, turned around, his expression indifferent and calm, "Oh, I forgot to tell you, I'll be keeping watch tonight."

Clutching the clothes, Amelia stood there for a good while before she realized what he meant by 'I'll be keeping watch tonight.'

It meant: he wasn't going to leave tonight!

Surprised, Amelia looked towards the balcony to see Owen with a cigarette in his mouth, a lighter in his hand, trying to light his smoke. The thin haze of tobacco smoke diffused, veiling his features.

It must be cold outside.

He was dressed in a thin white shirt, looking relaxed and natural, as if not feeling the cold at all.

For someone as important as him to be keeping her company was unbelievable.

Who would believe it if she told them?

Amelia couldn't understand why he was treating her like this.

Was it because they were alumni? Bordine University had countless students, he had countless fellow alumni – was he going to look after each one individually?

Was it because she was pretty? With his status, Owen Moreland, a man of wealth, good looks, and power, had no shortage of women seeking his favor; what kind of beauty couldn't he have if he desired?

After much thought, Amelia couldn't figure out why she was receiving such special care from Owen.

Suddenly.

"Do you intend to stand there all night?"

Owen's voice came from above her head, and Amelia came back to reality, realizing he had approached her at some point, with the faint smell of tobacco mixing with the unique scent of a man infiltrating her nostrils.

His gaze lightly fell upon her.

Amelia, belatedly aware, felt completely inappropriately dressed, her cheeks uncontrollably flushing red.

She turned and scurried into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Embarrassed and shy, although she hadn't exposed anything, the thought of being dressed like that in front of a man she hardly knew made her feel uncomfortable.

After she had put her clothes on properly and lingered in the bathroom for awhile, allowing the awkward feeling to subside a little, she finally opened the door and walked out.

Already not at ease in Owen Moreland's presence, she now felt entirely without a place to hide, her head down as she quickly walked to the bed, flung back the covers, slid in fully clothed, and said, "I'm going to sleep," before pulling the covers over her head, not even caring about the wound on her head.

Owen watched her fluid motions and her face flushed with embarrassment, a hint of amusement flashed in his eyes. He curved his lips slightly and went into the bathroom to wash up.

The bathroom was filled with the warm steam of a recent shower, mixed with the faint fragrance of shower gel, and the lingering scent of the girl.

Owen's eyes deepened a shade.

His gaze shifted, then halted abruptly.

A girl's little top with a cartoon print, pale yellow, very dainty and cute, hung there carelessly.

His eyes deepened further, but he quickly restrained himself and looked away.

After washing up, he came out of the bathroom. The girl on the bed was still covered from head to toe, motionless, but if he listened closely, he could hear the even sound of her breathing.

She must have fallen asleep.

Owen walked over, gently pulled down the covers, and saw the girl's calm eyebrows and cheeks still tinted with a light pink, whether from the earlier incident or from being under the covers for too long.

The heart-shaped birthmark on the right earlobe of Amelia Clarke looked even more vivid and enticing.

A very distinctive and unique birthmark.

There probably wasn't a second like it in the world.

Owen tucked her in, turned off the light, walked to the balcony, lit up another cigarette, and leaned against the railing, his tall and straight figure silhouetted against the night. His gaze lingered on the silhouette of the girl in the room; his thin lips exhaled beautiful rings of smoke, and for some reason, his mind quietened down unexpectedly.

After living for over thirty years, he had never felt such tranquility.