You Don't Look Well

Alexander's subordinate remained in a respectful posture. "The messenger also emphasized that your family expects you to attend your brother's birthday celebration with your wife. They were specific... your father and Margaret are anticipating an introduction to your new bride."

"Is that the case?" Alexander emitted a cold, humorless laugh, his features a mask of indifference.

He was not foolish enough to think the Blackwood family had developed a sudden, genuine interest in his marital status.

"They've undoubtedly heard about Sophia's departure and my impromptu wedding. Now, they're simply exploiting the situation to mock me." With a dismissive gesture, he flung the invitation onto his desk, his voice layered with apathy. "If they're so desperate to meet my wife, then they shall. Make the necessary arrangements."

"Understood," the subordinate replied, preparing to exit.

He paused briefly, however, recalling Evelyn's appearance moments earlier—the redness around her eyes, the faint trace of anguish on her face. After a second's hesitation, he spoke again. "It is not my place to comment on personal affairs, sir... but I feel compelled to mention something."

Alexander lifted his gaze, his eyes sharp and inscrutable. "Since when have you become hesitant? Speak your mind."

The man straightened immediately. "When I entered earlier, Mrs. Blackwood seemed distressed. Her eyes were red, as if she had been weeping. Given your recent marriage, if there is any misunderstanding between you, it would be best to resolve it quickly before it escalates."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. So, his subordinate dared to reference the interrupted moment?

If this man hadn't barged in, what misunderstanding could possibly exist?

"I see. You are dismissed," Alexander said, his tone laced with a thinly veiled edge of annoyance.

Having served Alexander for years, the subordinate was adept at interpreting subtle cues. His pulse quickened slightly, and without another word, he swiftly left the study.

Silence reclaimed the room, allowing Alexander a moment to collect his thoughts.

His mind drifted back to the instant Evelyn had accidentally bumped his chin and cried out.

It hadn't hurt him at all, but considering her delicate complexion, he wondered if she was still in pain.

He suspected that even if she was, she would never admit it.

After a brief pause, he set his work aside, turned his wheelchair, and decided to check on her personally.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was still grappling with the awkwardness of what had transpired.

She had fantasized about her first kiss countless times—always romantic, dreamlike, perfect.

She never imagined it would be so clumsy, incomplete, and utterly absurd.

Her first kiss was over before it truly began!

Entering the living room, the butler immediately noticed her state. "Mrs. Blackwood, is everything alright? You appear rather pale."

Evelyn started, pulled from her thoughts. She instinctively touched her cheek. "I'm fine," she said quickly.

The butler misinterpreted her reaction, assuming she was upset about failing to persuade Alexander regarding his health.

He offered a warm, sympathetic smile. "Mrs. Blackwood, please don't take it to heart. Mr. Blackwood has always been stubborn about such matters. Everyone has tried to convince him to take better care, but no one has ever succeeded. It's not a reflection on you; it's simply his nature."

Evelyn, momentarily distracted from her embarrassment, refocused.

Her priority was preparing food for Alexander. That was what mattered.

The flustered emotions, the chaotic feelings, the lingering awkwardness—she gave a slight shake of her head, pushing them aside, and headed towards the kitchen.

Just then, Alexander emerged from the study.

His gaze shifted to the butler. "Who were you discussing? Who is it that consistently ignores advice?"