As the Southern Wind Moves On

Chapter 9---A Bet

I nodded slightly, signaling my agreement, unable to read his thoughts.

Sometimes, people become senselessly submissive. For me, Maxwell Harrington's demands had become second nature—automatic obedience—even when my soul resisted fiercely.

The car headed toward the city center. I assumed Maxwell would take me back to the villa, but instead, he drove straight to the hospital.

The scent of disinfectant permeated every corner. I disliked it, yet I had no choice but to follow Maxwell into Ariana Whitmore's ward.

Ariana was receiving an IV drip. Always theatrically fragile, she lay on the stark white bed, her gaze distant, making her appear even more delicate and childlike.

When she saw me enter with Maxwell, her eyes turned cold. After a long pause, she finally said to Maxwell, "I don't want to see her!"

Without the baby, her former sweet, doll-like demeanor had vanished, replaced by coldness and resentment.

Maxwell walked over, half-lifting her from the bed, gently nuzzling his chin against her forehead in reassurance. "Let her take care of you for a few days. It's only right."

Their intimacy and affection stabbed at my nerves.

Ariana seemed about to protest, but after a moment, she tilted her head up and smiled faintly at Maxwell. "Alright, I'll do as you say."

And just like that, they decided my fate with a few exchanged words.

It was laughable, really—here I was, completely silent, accepting their arrangement without a word.

Maxwell was busy. Though he hadn't appeared at grandfather's funeral, as a member of the Harrington family, many matters still required his attention. With the vast Harrington Group under his management, he couldn't afford much time at the hospital with Ariana.

That left only me to care for her.

At 2 a.m., Ariana, having slept too much during the day, couldn't fall asleep. With no extra bed in the room, I sat on the chair beside her bed.

Noticing I was still awake, she looked at me and said, "Elara, you're too submissive."

I didn't know how to respond. I lowered my eyes, staring at the ring in my hand, then finally looked up at her. "Isn't love like that?"

She laughed enigmatically. After a long silence, she asked, "Are you tired?"

I shook my head. Life is long—what part of it isn't tiring? I've merely fallen in love with someone.

"Could you pour me a glass of water?" she asked, propping herself up slightly.

"Don't add cold water—make it scalding," she said, her tone emotionless.

After pouring the water, I handed it to her. She didn't take it, but instead stared at me and said, "I feel sorry for you, yet I also find you pitiful. The baby's loss wasn't really your fault, but I can't help blaming you and hating you."

I didn't understand what she meant, but I still held out the cup. "Be careful—it's scalding."

She grabbed the cup, then suddenly yanked my hand. Instinctively, I tried to pull away, but her dark eyes locked onto mine. "Let's make a bet," she said. "Let's see if he'll actually care."

I froze. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the man standing in the doorway—Maxwell. I didn't know when he'd arrived. Ariana looked at me, her expression calm. "Dare you?"

I said nothing, allowing her to pour the boiling water down the back of my hand. Excruciating pain shot through me, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at my flesh.

Though I made no sound, I had, in silence, accepted the bet.

Ariana set the cup down, her face now innocent. "I'm sorry—it wasn't intentional. The cup was too hot, and I accidentally spilled it. Are you alright?"

The lie was painfully obvious.

I pulled my hand back, enduring the pain, and shook my head. "I'm fine."