Mr. Badass ✔

07 Stockholm Syndrome

Gemma's POV

From my perspective, I see an unusual tenderness in Luke's eyes, like fire on an iceberg or a star in the night.

My heart starts pounding wildly because of this stark contrast.

For a moment, I even think of the scene where the prince slips the glass slipper onto Cinderella's foot.

But we're nothing like the prince and Cinderella.

Luke is the nasty capitalist exploiting me, and I'm the pitiful employee who can't even complain about my bonus being withheld.

So why is my heart racing? Could it be that I like him? No, that's impossible.

Luke closes the first aid kit.

"Thank you, boss," I say hurriedly and then limp away to the guest room.

Later, Luke knocks on the door, "I ordered takeout. Do you want some?"

"I'm not hungry, thanks."

I lie on the bed, hugging a pillow, staring at the ceiling, with the image of Luke holding my ankle stuck in my mind. His palm was so warm that my ankle still seems to burn.

It's dark now. I'm lying on this incredibly soft, supposedly sleep-enhancing mattress, but I can't sleep.

I get up, open the door, and walk out. Luke is in the living room, drinking water. I freeze when I see him.

He looks at me casually, "You're still awake?"

"I—" I stammer, "I can't sleep and need to go home to get my sleep mask."

Luke glances at my foot, "Where's your sleep mask? I'll get it for you."

"On the nightstand."

Luke walks out, and two minutes later, he returns with my sleep mask.

I sit on the sofa, see him, and stand up, "Thank you."

Then I head back to the guest room.

"Wait a minute," he suddenly says from behind me.

I turn around, "Yes?"

Luke goes to his bedroom and comes back holding a small nightlight. He hands it to me.

"What's this?" I look up at him.

"If you get thirsty at night and want to get up for water, it's easy to bump into things with a sleep mash. So let this light the room."

It's a rather beautiful nightlight with tassels. I plug it in by the bed and put on the mask, but I still can't sleep.

Around midnight, I sit up, frustrated, take off the mask, and stare at the nightlight. After a while, I can't help but reach out, braiding the tassel into a small braid, and then lie back down.

The next day is Sunday. I open the door and see Luke standing in the living room.

He's wearing black silk pajamas, which look loose and casual, but certain parts cling naturally to his skin, effortlessly outlining his toned, perfect muscles.

I swallow hard.

"Good morning," Luke says.

I nod, still a bit groggy.

"What do you want for breakfast? I'll order takeout."

"No need," I say, "I'll go downstairs and buy something for us."

There's a café near the entrance of the complex. Luke frowns slightly, "Your foot—"

"It's fine now." The shard of porcelain didn't go in deep; it just scratched the skin a little.