The Cure Is You

Helplessness.

°SERENA°

“You’re a piece of work,” he said, almost to himself.

I snorted softly, shaking my head as I packed up my equipment. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I bet that would be the most appreciation he would have ever given. Heartless guy.

He didn’t respond, and I took that as my cue to leave. But as I turned toward the door, his voice stopped me.

“Why did you agree to this? To us?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated, my hand on the doorframe. Was he genuinely asking this question, or was this one of his attempts to mock me?

“Why does it matter?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“It matters,” he said, and there was something in his tone—something I couldn’t quite place.

I turned to face him, meeting his gaze once more. And he looked really genuine, making my heart skip a beat. Does he really care?

“Maybe because I had no other choice. Or maybe because I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive this too.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to read between the lines of my answer.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally, his voice low and thoughtful.

A flicker of curiosity sparked inside me. What did he expect? A simpering damsel? A submissive servant? The urge to ask burned on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. This wasn’t the time to delve into his expectations—or mine, for that matter.

“Good,” I replied with a faint smirk. “I’d hate to be predictable.”

And with that, I walked out of the room, leaving him and his questions to himself.

He is a mixture of a tyrant, heartless, ruthless guy—but now I think he may be a bit kind too.

For a moment, he shows me his ruthless side, barking orders without a care in the world, and then there he is, asking about my helplessness.

Helplessness. Has he ever felt that? Probably not. He was raised with all the luxuries in the world, with a ton load of money.

He wouldn't know what it feels like to be abandoned, to be treated as nothing by your own family.

I sighed. Does he even care if I said I have been forced into this? Apparently not. The only reason he is letting me stay here is because I can cure his legs.

Just a cure to his legs.

Yes, Serena, don't think too much about his almost non-existent kindness.

I have had my lesson, and I will never trust someone again and feel that abandonment. What if I cured his legs and he too abandoned me? Will he? Well, I guess so.

I don’t want to think about that heartless guy anymore. I just want to sleep peacefully in my comfy bed now. Oh, my bed.

It has been one hell of a day.

---

Morning arrived all too quickly, pulling me out of a restless sleep. At precisely 6 a.m., my body, ever obedient to routine, forced me awake. I stretched, wincing at the dull ache from yesterday’s endless tasks.

The herbs I had set to soak were still brittle—a reminder that patience was an unkind teacher. With nothing else to do, I wandered into the kitchen, my stomach already growling.

To my surprise, the aroma of freshly prepared food greeted me. The cooks, bustling about, barely spared me a glance.

“Can I… eat this?” I asked hesitantly, my voice cutting through their quiet chatter.

They exchanged uncertain looks, as if deciding whether I was worthy of such a privilege, until one finally stepped forward.

“Of course, ma’am,” he said, his tone neutral.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, grabbing two sandwiches, filling a bowl of fruits, and taking a glass of milk. I didn’t care if they found me rude; hunger trumped politeness.

---

By the time I reached the school gates, I was already late. The cab had taken forever to arrive, and I couldn’t help but blame him.

Why does he have to build his mansion in the middle of nowhere? Was isolation part of his charm, or just another display of wealth?

I sighed, adjusting my bag as I hurried to class. It was going to be another long day.

---

I returned home, and I have never felt this level of guilt or happiness before, but yeah—it was at least useful, so it’s all been worth it.

“Why the f**k do you need that?”

A sharp voice yelled at me the moment I stepped into the mansion—a voice I knew all too well. The mansion was drop-dead silent, and the air was thick with tension. I swallowed hard, trying to push away the fear that crept into me at the sight of him.

What have I done to anger him now?

With labored breathing and a pounding heart, I looked at the only man who could have this level of intimidating effect.

My dear employer—or husband, if you prefer.