As she carried it back to the master bedroom, she noticed the guest room looked recently cleaned. The bed neatly made. Fresh sheets.
She didn’t let herself linger on that detail.
Back in the bedroom, she sat carefully on the edge of the bed and rolled up her pant leg.
The swelling had worsened. The skin stretched tight and angry.
She dabbed the cotton with iodine and pressed it gently to her ankle.
Pain exploded up her leg.
A sharp gasp escaped her before she could stop it.
“You shouldn’t be using that.”
The sudden voice made her freeze.
She looked up.
Nathanie stood at the doorway, a fresh bottle of herbal liniment in his hand.
“That iodine expired months ago,” he said, stepping inside. “Didn’t you check? You’re still so careless.”
There was no real harshness in his tone—just quiet reproach.
He crouched in front of her and reached toward her ankle.
Instinctively, she pulled her foot back.
His hand stilled.
“Do you not want me touching you?” he asked evenly.
In the dim lamplight, his expression was difficult to read.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear to avoid his gaze.
“It’s not that,” she replied quietly. “Olivia’s downstairs. You should go keep her company. Just leave the liniment here. I can take care of it.”
He watched her for a moment longer.
Then, without warning, he caught her ankle and drew it firmly into his lap.
The sudden movement made her wince.
“Nathanie—” she protested, but the pain forced the rest of her words into a soft cry.
He paused when he saw the full extent of the swelling.
The faint irritation that had lingered on his face disappeared, replaced by something rarer.
Regret.
“…Sorry,” he said under his breath.
The word stunned her.
In three years, she could not remember hearing him apologize like that.
Not when he had once left her doubled over in pain with a ruptured appendix because he had to attend a medical summit.
Not when she later learned Olivia had been there that same day, introduced publicly as his protégée.
But now—over a sprained ankle—he apologized.
She almost laughed at the irony.
“Since when do you say sorry?” she asked lightly, trying to keep her voice steady.
He avoided her eyes, focusing instead on spreading the liniment carefully over her swollen skin.
“I should’ve checked it earlier,” he admitted. “It’s worse than I thought.”
The sincerity in his tone tugged at something fragile inside her.