After sending Lucian off, Silas glanced at the clock. It was already half past eight in the evening. He pinched the bridge of his nose and called for room service.
About ten minutes later, a male waiter rolled in the meal cart.
"Mr. Crowe, your order has arrived."
Silas nodded. "Set it here."
Elena had taken her anti-inflammatory and fever medicine and was still groggy under the covers. Someone dug her out again. She blinked sleepily and saw Silas sitting at the edge of the bed. "I got you some porridge. Eat a little."
"I don’t want to…" she murmured, too weak to argue.
Silas felt her still-hot forehead. Seeing her sickly appearance, he realized he had gone too far last night. He wasn’t a reckless boy—he had the self-control of a grown man—but last night, holding her, he had lost all
