"The First Concerned "
1234 Words
Episode 8
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Evelyn didn’t come down for breakfast.
At first, no one noticed.
The Blackwood mansion was efficient like that—systems running smoothly whether or not a single piece was missing. Plates were arranged. Coffee brewed. Dominic took his seat at the head of the table, tablet in hand, posture exact.
The chair across from him remained empty.
He didn’t look at it.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Dominic finished his coffee, eyes scanning his schedule. Meetings. Calls. A late afternoon briefing.
Still, the absence registered.
“She’s late,” he said finally.
The head housekeeper hesitated. “Miss Hart hasn’t left her room this morning, sir.”
Dominic’s fingers paused against the glass of his tablet.
“She didn’t inform anyone.”
“No, sir.”
Silence followed.
“She’s not ill?” he asked.
“We’re… not sure.”
He stood immediately.
“Bring tea,” he said. “And a hot water bottle.”
The housekeeper blinked. “Sir?”
“Now.”
Dominic didn’t wait for confirmation. He moved through the halls with long, purposeful strides, irritation threading through his calm in a way that felt unfamiliar.
Evelyn didn’t break rules.
That was the problem.
He stopped outside her door and knocked once.
No response.
He knocked again, sharper this time.
“Evelyn.”
A muffled sound came from inside. Not words. Pain.
His jaw tightened.
“I’m coming in.”
He opened the door.
The room was dim, curtains drawn halfway. Evelyn lay curled on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, face pale, hair damp with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
Dominic froze for half a second.
She looked… small.
“Evelyn,” he said again, quieter now.
Her eyes opened slowly. “I’m fine,” she murmured, even as her voice shook.
“You’re clearly not.”
She turned her face away. “It’s nothing. I just need time.”
“How long?”
“A day. Maybe two.”
His eyes swept the room—unmade bed, untouched water, painkillers still sealed on the nightstand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, “It’s my period.”
The word landed heavier than expected.
Dominic blinked once.
“I have cramps,” she added stiffly, as if bracing for dismissal. “It happens every month. I’ll come down later.”
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I said I’m fine.”
“No,” he corrected calmly. “You said you don’t want attention.”
Her lips pressed together.
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just closer.
“Why didn’t you inform anyone?” he asked.
She laughed weakly. “Because it didn’t seem necessary to submit a report on my uterus.”
Something—dangerously close to amusement—flickered in his eyes. It vanished quickly.
“You are under my care,” he said. “If you’re incapacitated, it is necessary.”
“I’m not incapacitated,” she insisted, even as another wave of pain made her gasp.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
He turned, opened the door, and accepted the items the housekeeper hurriedly delivered.
“Leave us,” he said.
The door closed.
Evelyn struggled to sit up. “You don’t have to—”
“Lie down,” he said.
The tone wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t gentle either.
It was certain.
She obeyed.
Dominic placed the hot water bottle carefully against her lower abdomen, his movements precise, respectful. His hand brushed her side by accident—brief, controlled—but Evelyn flinched anyway.
“Sorry,” he said immediately.
The word surprised them both.
She stared at him. “It’s okay.”
He stepped back, creating distance again.
“Why didn’t you ask for help?” he asked.
She stared at the ceiling. “Because I didn’t want to be… inconvenient.”
The word sat between them.
“Inconvenience is inefficiency,” Dominic said. “This is neither.”
She turned her head to look at him. “You don’t usually say things like that.”
“I don’t usually encounter situations like this,” he replied.
A pause.
“Does it always affect you this severely?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Stress makes it worse.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“This environment is stressful,” he said.
She gave a humorless smile. “That’s one way to put it.”
Dominic reached for the tea and handed it to her, careful not to touch her again.
“Drink,” he said. “Slowly.”
She did.
For a few minutes, the room was quiet except for her breathing.
“You should have medical support,” he said eventually.
“I don’t need a doctor,” she replied. “Just rest.”
He studied her face, as if weighing options.
“You will remain here today,” he decided. “No obligations.”
She frowned. “I still have duties.”
“They’re suspended.”
“By who?”
“By me.”
She hesitated. “Thank you.”
He nodded once.
As he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.
“Dominic?”
He looked back.
“You came yourself,” she said quietly. “You didn’t send someone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He paused longer this time.
“Because,” he said carefully, “I needed to assess the situation personally.”
It was a safe answer.
Not entirely true—but safe.
He left.
Hours passed.
Evelyn slept in fragments, pain easing gradually. When she woke again, the room was warmer, the curtains adjusted slightly to let in soft light.
A tray sat on the table. Soup. Crackers. Medication—opened.
She frowned.
The door opened.
Dominic stepped in.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
She pushed herself up slightly. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did,” he replied.
He stood there for a moment, then added, “The gala coverage has begun. They’re speculating.”
“About what?”
“About you,” he said. “Your absence.”
Her stomach tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re ill,” he said. “That’s explanation enough.”
She studied his face. “You didn’t say that last night. About explanations.”
“Last night required control,” he said. “Today requires discretion.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better,” she admitted. “Still sore.”
He nodded. “You’ll rest another day.”
She looked at him. “You’re… different today.”
He met her gaze. “Am I?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “You’re paying attention.”
A beat passed.
“Don’t misinterpret concern as permission,” he said.
“I’m not,” she replied quickly.
But something had already shifted.
He turned to leave again.
“Dominic,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” she said again, more firmly this time.
He paused at the door.
“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Remember that.”
Then he was gone.
Evelyn lay back, staring at the ceiling, her chest feeling strangely tight.
It wasn’t romance.
It wasn’t affection.
But it was the first time she felt seen as something other than a function.
And that terrified her more than the pain ever had.
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- Writer
