The man's tone was laced with a meaning Celestine couldn't quite place, but it left her mind wandering in all the wrong directions.
Her fingers gave an involuntary twitch.
She turned and met his gaze.
Gideon lowered his eyes. For a split second, as he blinked, she caught a strange glimmer of vulnerability—almost pitiable, almost suspicious.
Celestine snatched her hand back as if she’d touched a live wire.
No, she had to be mistaken. There was no way Gideon was the type to feign weakness.
She remembered meeting him all those years ago—his body covered in shocking wounds, and not once had he ever uttered a complaint in her presence.
Maybe this time it really did hurt?
Celestine found herself genuinely doubting. But no matter how she tried, she just couldn’t convince herself.
Then, suddenly, it hit her.
Gideon was married now.
People do change—sometimes because of someone else. They start picking up each other’s habits, even their expressions, without realizing it.
Maybe Gideon was just unconsciously imitating his wife, letting his guard down in a way he never had before.
The realization settled her nerves. If that was the case, it all made sense.
She pulled out a chair and sat down across from Gideon, facing him directly.
Carefully, she began to unwrap the blood-stained bandage on his arm.
A sharp intake of breath broke the silence. The sound of Gideon hissing in pain made her scalp prickle.
Celestine forced herself to stay calm and said, “Mr. Prescott, I’m not a professional. This might hurt a bit, so please bear with me.”
Gideon, who’d been half-heartedly faking pain for sympathy, gave her a look of disbelief.
He narrowed his eyes, noticing how completely unfazed Celestine seemed by his suffering.
Had he overdone it? No, this had to be Vernon’s stupid self-help book—it claimed every woman would fall for this routine.
Gideon smirked inwardly, a touch of cold amusement flickering in his eyes.
“Achoo!”
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