The Contract

Chapter 80-The Caretaker

I opened my eyes, my vision blurred, and I blinked several times until the familiar sight of the ceiling came into focus.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly. Looking down at myself, I realized I was on the bed. My gaze shifted to the side table where my phone rested.

How did I get here?

I glanced around the room, noticing my laptop and the scattered work from last night on the sofa across from me.

Wasn't I in the living room? Who brought me here?

I froze, my eyes widening in sudden realization. Was it Travis?

Could he be back?

I swung my legs over the bed, slid on my footwear, and headed out of my room. My feet hesitated in front of his door.

I didn’t know why I wanted to see him. He wasn’t supposed to return this soon—if at all. Yet, something compelled me to reach for the door. My hand faltered. What if he doesn’t let me in?

Ignoring my doubt, I pushed the door open. There he was, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to me.

I stepped inside. "I wasn’t expecting you so soon."

"You weren’t expecting me at all," he retorted without turning around.

I walked closer and stopped in front of him. He finally lifted his head, and my breath caught.

His lip was split, his left fist bruised, and fresh cuts marred his face. The injuries from earlier hadn’t even healed.

“What are you, prone to violence?” I asked, reaching out for his hand. He caught my wrist before I could touch it.

"Don’t worry about it."

He made to stand, but I pushed him back down, surprising him.

"Don't worry? You look like you’ve been in a street fight! You’re not going anywhere until I patch you up."

For a moment, he just stared, his surprise evident.

"I’m not going to ask how you got these," I added, "but you’re not walking around looking like the leader of some mafia group. Sit tight—I’ll get the first aid kit."

A few minutes later

I carefully placed a new bandage over the bruise on his forehead. He hadn’t said a word since I started.

He winced, and I shot him a look. "This hurts, but getting beat up doesn’t?" I teased, dabbing a second cut.

"I didn’t get beat up," he muttered.

"Then you did the beating?"

"Pearl..." He reached for my hand, but I smacked it away.

"These need to be cleaned two or three times a day so they don’t scar," I informed him.

"So you care?" he asked, watching me closely.

"Of course. I don’t want my husband walking around looking like he gets beat up every day."

"Once again, I didn’t get beat up."

"Worst-case scenario," I quipped, "people might think I’m the one doing the beating."

His head snapped up, his expression incredulous. "Why would anyone think that?"

"You’d be surprised," I replied nonchalantly. "Do you know how many husbands get beaten by their wives? Plenty."

Before he could respond, I pressed an ice pack to his lip. "We don’t want to ruin your image, Mr. Billionaire Before 30."

After a few minutes, I set the ice pack aside and applied a thin layer of petroleum jelly to his lip.

Finally, I turned to his hands, unwrapping the old bandages. "I’ll be leaving for Malta today," he said.

I paused, glancing up at him. "And the Sienna Ball this weekend?"

"I’ll be back before then," he assured me. I nodded and finished rebandaging his hands.

"I’ll need to clean them again tonight," I reminded him, stepping back with a sigh.

"Thank you," he said quietly, flexing his fingers.

I packed up the kit and turned to leave, but I almost bumped into him. He stood so close, towering over me.

I stepped back, my eyes locking with his. "Come down for breakfast," he said softly.

Later at breakfast. I noticed a missed call from Aiden last night. He probably went to the bar and realized I wasn’t showing up. I sighed and set my phone aside.

Evelyn served breakfast, and I called out, "Evelyn?"

"Yes, Mrs Ferrari?"

"What exactly happened last night? After you gave me the tea, I mean."

"You passed out from the medication, and Mr. Ferrari arrived shortly after. He carried you upstairs."

"He... carried me upstairs?"

"Yes."

"Travis?"

"Yes."

I nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Why is it so hard to believe Travis would do that?

As the thought lingered, he entered the room, his presence commanding. He took the seat opposite mine, and we began eating in silence.

I glanced up at him once again, he carried me upstairs?

Hours later

I found myself wandering through the garage, passing by Travis as he spoke on the phone. I walked by again, catching his attention this time.

Dressed in a navy suit, his blazer in hand, he watched me approach.

When he ended the call, I stood before him, my hands clasped behind my back.

He leaned in slightly, his towering frame close. I smiled and pulled out cotton wool and balm, dabbing at the cut on his lip.

Stepping back, I watched as he straightened his tie.

"Safe trip," I said quietly before walking back inside.