NovelGoldChapter 19 Raymond sat alone in the empty living room, his mind wandering. He suddenly remembered that, back at the office, the kid had always been on her own.
She must have felt scared, right? For a moment, he'd actually wanted to press her, to demand exactly where she'd gone. But he forced himself to let it go.
After all, to her, they were little more than strangers bound by paperwork. If he started interrogating her now, she'd probably end up resenting him.
Still, Raymond couldn't help but worry. He dialed Adler's number.
At that very moment, Adler was tangled up with his girlfriend, their goodbyes dragging out with reluctant kisses. Just as things got heated, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, making both of them jump.
The interruption instantly killed the mood. Adler's girlfriend groaned, "Who the hell is it?" Adler glanced at the screen, jaw clenched. "Damn corporate overlord," he muttered under his breath, the light in his eyes flickering out.
He groaned, half to himself, "I swear I'm quitting tomorrow. I'm done with this." But as he grumbled, his body betrayed him he was already pulling his shirt back on.
A few seconds later, he answered the call, suddenly all meek politeness. "Hello, Mr. Carmichael." His voice dripped with servile charm.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt"Find out where Citrine went today," Raymond said curtly, then hung up without waiting for a reply.
An hour later, Adler called back.
"Mr. Carmichael, Miss Citrine went to Crestwood. Beyond that, I couldn't find out anything." Raymond frowned, his expression growing darker.
If even Adler couldn't dig up anything, someone must have gone out of their way to cover Citrine's tracks.
The next afternoon, when Citrine chome, she found Raymond stretched out on the couch.
She walked over and realized his eyes were shut, his face flushed with fever.
The usually commanding, unflappable man now looked oddly fragile in his illness. "Raymond?" Citrine poked him, calling his nsoftly, but he didn't stir.
She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
"Damn, he's burning up." Had he been like this all day? The housekeeper and the maid were both on holiday this week, so the only ones hwere the two of them.
Citrine took his temperature. When she saw the thermometer nearly hit 104, she quickly gave him one of her own fever reducers.
She fetched a blanket from the bedroom and tucked it snugly around him on the couch, then dampened a towel and placed it gently on his forehead.
Once she'd done all that, she headed to the kitchen to make ssoup.
Back when she'd lived with the Iversons, Aline had never given her an allowance. Whenever Sawyer was away, it was normal for Citrine to chto an empty kitchen.
Aline had instructed the staff not to cook for her, and no one dared disobey.
After a while, Citrine learned to fend for herself in the kitchen, and her cooking turned out surprisingly well.
Raymond, groggy from the medicine, was barely conscious. Citrine managed to coax only half a bowl of soup into him.
That night, to keep an eye on him, Citrine simply grabbed a blanket and camped out on the couch across from his.
By three in the morning, Raymond's fever had finally broken. The fog in his head had lifted, leaving his mind unusually clear.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmHe opened his eyes and saw Citrine fast asleep on the other couch, a strange feeling settling in his chest.
Even yesterday, when he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, he'd been vaguely aware of someone tending to him with gentle care.
The Carmichael family was never close; whenever he got sick, he just tmost, toughed it out alone. At most, he'd buy himself smedicine. No one had ever looked after him like this. This was the first the'd felt what it was like to be cared for-and the person caring for him was his own daughter.
Someone who shared his blood.
The next morning, Citrine woke to find Raymond still asleep.
"That's odd," she murmured. She'd given him her own fever medicine after all.
Her formula contained nothing harmful, and it worked better than anything you could buy at the m pharmacy. There was no reason he shouldn't be better by now. Citrine walked over, crouched down, and laid the back of her hand on Raymond's forehead. The moment she touched him, his eyes snapped open. Citrine jumped, yanking her hand back.
For a second, their eyes met. Citrine felt awkward and scrambled to her feet. "Uh... you're awake?" "Yeah." Raymond kept his gaze on her, not looking away.
"Are you feeling any better?" Citrine asked.
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