To my disappointment, he was still lying there, motionless and serene.
Scratching my head, I decided it must have been my imagination. There was no way he had coughed.
“Well,” I muttered to myself, “I might as well do my part. Earn the allowance, be a dutiful daughter-in-law, and live comfortably.”
Speaking of which, Abigail had just transferred $100,000 into my account. Seeing the notification lit up my face.
With this kind of money, living in the villa would be a dream come true. I could eat, drink, and enjoy life without a care in the world.
For the first time in a while, I felt truly at ease. Maybe this arrangement wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
After receiving $100,000, I was in an excellent mood. With the early evening still ahead of me, I decided to take care of some “business.”
The business in question? Chatting with Adrian, giving him a massage, and helping turn him over—all the small duties of a devoted fiancée. After all, I was his future wife and had already received money for the role. It was only fair that I put in some effort. Perhaps, if I were being completely honest, I was also drawn to him because of his extraordinary good looks.
Entering Adrian’s room, I found it just as serene and orderly as before. The atmosphere was calm, almost reverent. Everything in the room seemed intentionally designed for comfort—his bed carefully positioned near the window, the soft lighting casting a gentle glow, and not a speck of dust to be seen.
The maids rarely came up here. Abigail had specifically instructed them to avoid disturbing Adrian, even though he was in a vegetative state. The care he received was meticulous.
I sat beside him and, once again, marveled at his perfection. How could one person be so handsome? His features were refined, like a sculpture crafted by a master artist.
“Mr. Winslow, you truly possess unearthly beauty,” I remarked, smiling to myself as I began to talk.
Our conversation—or rather, my monologue—was entirely one-sided. With Adrian unable to respond, I felt no pressure to filter my thoughts. I rambled on, jumping from Schopenhauer to Nietzsche and then delving into my own life story, narrating everything from my awkward childhood to the circumstances that had brought me here.
Eventually, I asked him, “Do you mind if I take a look at your abdominal muscles?”
He gave no response, naturally, which I took as consent.