The breeze softly hums, shadows of the trees shift eastward, and the pale sunlight bursts forth from the clouds.
Rosie Scott sat in the dining room in casual attire, sipping millet porridge, with conspicuous red marks on her wrists and ankles. Not only Assistant Hugh's eyes widened in shock, but even the usually composed Mr. Gold was taken aback. Not to mention, the maid's eyes were all darting restlessly.
"Miss... Miss Scott, what happened to your hand?" Assistant Hugh adjusted his glasses, his hands awkwardly clasped together. He had only been away for a day, yet it seemed a lot of noteworthy events had taken place.
"I got injured last night, but my husband helped me apply medicine this morning." Rosie Scott waved her slender arm, deliberately causing confusion. Upon mentioning that the injury was related to Charles Anderson, everyone in the room grew restless.
Her affectionate nickname for Charles Anderson was something only she seemed accustomed to using. Everyone at Anderson Castle would nervously glance at the second young master's expression each time they heard it.
"Huh?" Assistant Hugh raised his eyebrow, his mouth slightly agape, only daring to peek at the second young master out of the corner of his eye: Could this injury be related to him? Having followed him for so many years, he hadn't heard of any peculiar fetishes.
Moreover, the second young master had always been indifferent to relationships. Could it be that he's suddenly... enlightened?
The young girl pinched the jade spoon and sent the thick millet porridge into her mouth. Her half-closed fox eyes gleamed with a cold light as she defiantly looked at Charles Anderson, who had changed into formal attire. The tip of her tongue played with the soft flesh inside her mouth.
Did he change his clothes just because she used the handkerchief on his chest to wipe her tears earlier?
In her past life, this deeply scheming man was never one to overlook details. Even if he had premeditated marrying her and put on such a good front, how could he miss these small details?
Thinking it over, there seemed to be only one possibility: He truly despised her.
If he disliked her, why forcefully take her?
The intention was impure.
Rosie Scott downed several more spoonfuls of millet porridge, filling her stomach with something, which gave her strength. However, the disgust in her chest would not dissipate for a long time.
After finishing breakfast, several maids led her to try on clothes. Many competed to dress her, as if believing she would become the future mistress, eager to curry favor.
Rosie Scott wasn't accustomed to being served and waved them away.
The man waited outside, his expression always cold when alone, like the clear moon hanging at the edge of the night sky, reflecting a dim light. His wheelchair moved to the window, and from the back, his shoulders and back glowed with fine light, his silhouette striking.
Presently, the young girl drew back the curtains and emerged, her fair hand tousling her black hair. Clad in a French-style black corseted Lily long gown, her waist was slender, her figure elegant, like fine silk wrapping jade ice, her wrist and ankle scars covered.
"Shouldn't you be telling me where we're going?" She had an always rebellious air, bristling with thorns, difficult to deal with. When silent, she seemed quite courteous, but when speaking... well... silence was better.
The man turned at her voice, and as her figure entered his calm black eyes, even he seemed a bit startled, like autumn leaves falling into a still lake, causing ripples.
Jack Hugh also felt a sense of amazement in his eyes. Seeing the second young master remain silent, he spoke first: "It's just a concert, Miss Scott, no need to worry."
"I'm not worried, but I would feel more at ease if the second young master were to treat me frankly." The girl's words were layered with meaning, and she didn't intend to discuss the depths of her remarks with them. She moved to the dressing table, sat down, closed her eyes, and waited for the makeup artist to apply her makeup.
Charles Anderson retracted his gaze from her, his eyes still holding that unfathomable expression as Jack Hugh pushed him away.
When Rosie Scott was ready and heading downstairs, Charles Anderson was already sitting in the car. His side profile was exemplary, the light favored him, sketching his outlines; he was dressed formally, his legs uncovered by a blanket, naturally placed in a bent position, wearing shiny leather shoes, broad shoulders, slim waist, appearing more composed when in formal wear.
From this view, his legs wrapped in slacks didn't seem atrophied. If not seeing him in a wheelchair, one wouldn't guess he was half-paralyzed.
Originally thinking paralysis meant cutting off the lower half, she realized it wasn't necessary.
A hint of suspicion flashed across the young girl's face; how did he sit up? Could it be Jack Hugh, that 'stick figure,' carried him up?
Imagining a man carrying another man, she couldn't help but snicker, then lifted her leg to get into the car, her high heel hooked on the hem of her dress, stumbling towards the man inside.
Charles Anderson wasn't unresponsive; seeing her fall, he instinctively reached out.
His body stiffened, hand seeming to touch a place it shouldn't have. His black eyes slightly stunned as his gaze slipped over the girl's increasingly reddening ears; Rosie Scott found a support point and sprang back at lightning speed, her cheeks like clouds dyed by the evening glow. Her usual imposing social 'bully' demeanor momentarily seemed silenced like a stunned lobster.
"You..." She clutched her chest, initially intending to curse, but remembering he was already a disabled individual, gestured to fend off an accident, the girl held back.
He hadn't even uttered a word of apology.
Accidental or not, he should apologize.
Jack Hugh sensed the bad atmosphere in the car, gingerly settled into the driver's seat, hooked the car door handle with his finger, slowly and gently closing it, trying to minimize his presence. Suddenly a cool voice came from the second young master: "Drive."
"Yes!" Assistant Hugh immediately straightened up, 'bang!' closing the car door.
The young girl stole glances at the man beside her, calm as ever, with closed eyes, hands placed on his lap, as if nothing had happened.
She was infuriated.
"Mr. Anderson, you have nothing to say?"
Charles Anderson slightly opened his eyes, his plain, unremarkable gaze with a hint of jest: "I was foolish."
Rosie Scott clenched her pink fists, suddenly raised her voice: "Charles Anderson! You accidentally touched me just now, shouldn't you apologize!"
"Your voice is loud; seems like Miss Scott had quite a breakfast."
"Indeed, a bowl of millet porridge, no second helpings, Anderson Family truly is Ael's magnate."
"That was my oversight."
The young girl couldn't argue with him for long; his words were placid like mountain spring water, occasionally with implied meaning, followed by a certain soft apology, causing one's fire to kindle midway on its own and extinguish.
Rosie Scott stared at his gentle, jade-like features, gradually putting away her temper. Having a handsome husband had its perks; in the heat of argument, looking at his face really helped dispel anger. She ground her teeth, lightly chuckled: "Mr. Anderson ought to pretend properly later. Don't keep calling me Miss Scott, lest it attracts trouble from those with ulterior motives."
Charles Anderson silently chuckled; she was keen in understanding, calling him husband when in a good mood, Mr. Anderson when not.