Chapter 6

A strong hand suddenly caught Sylvie by the arm and steadied her. Even through the thin fabric of her shirt, she could feel the burning heat of Elliott's palm and the kind of strength that brooked no refusal.

"Why were you squatting here?" he asked.

He looked down at her imperiously, his brows drawn tight. He'd just finished working out; his hair was damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead. His dark gray tank top traced out broad shoulders and a trim waist. He radiated pure testosterone.

"Mr. Quinton." Sylvie snapped out of it and hastily straightened up, holding out the water and towel. "You should rehydrate right after a workout. Warm water's easier on the stomach. Here's a towel—you should wipe off the sweat so you don't catch a chill."

She tilted her face up. Her big, bright eyes held a careful hint of flattery.

Elliott's gaze dropped to the things in her hands, then to the tips of her ears, which had flushed pink from nerves.

"You're pretty on top of things," he said. His voice was a little rough, threaded with the ragged edge that came after a workout.

"Well, you're paying me. I'm just doing my job," Sylvie said, her eyes crinkling as she gave him a sunny smile.

He studied her for a couple of seconds before reaching out to take the water and towel. "In the future, you don't have to wait out here."

With that, he turned and strode toward the master bedroom.

Only when his tall figure disappeared at the end of the hallway did Sylvie finally let out a breath of relief. She'd probably pulled through day one… right?

Just as Sylvie returned to her room, her phone started ringing. She picked up right away.

"Syl! I just heard from your landlord that you moved out. Where did you go?" Noelle's voice burst through the speaker, packed with worry.

A soft warmth spread through Sylvie's chest.

Unfortunately, she'd signed an NDA. She couldn't mention Islewood Residences, and she definitely couldn't bring up the contractual marriage. So she only said, "I found a new job. My boss covers room and board, and the setup's pretty great. That's why I moved in."

"Room and board? Damn, that sounds like a total dream. Can I come visit you?" Noelle asked.

"It's not really convenient now. Give me a few days. I'll go to you once I'm free."

"Alright, then. As long as you're okay." Noelle sighed, her tone suddenly turning heavy. "Syl, what's really going on between you and Joe? I barely understood whatever you told me earlier when I was at the restaurant."

Sylvie's fingers tightened around her phone. She looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and told Noelle the truth. She recounted everything that had happened outside the presidential suite two years ago.

The other end of the line went quiet for a few seconds. Then, Noelle practically blew out Sylvie's eardrum. "What did you just say? Joe is actually Jonah Emerson, the Emerson family's golden boy? Oh my god. You're telling me you just happened to pick up a freaking trust fund baby?"

She rambled on, shocked and indignant on Sylvie's behalf. "Wait… he's loaded, isn't he? And you saved his life. How could he do this to you? You guys were together for five years! No way he'd be that heartless, right?

"Maybe you're both just mad at each other right now. Give it a few days. Once he cools off, he'll come crawling to beg you to take him back. And when he does, you'd better make sure he really works for it!"

Sylvie's eyes stung a little as she listened to Noelle. But when she spoke, her voice was calm, without the slightest quiver. "Elle, we're not gonna kiss and make up this time."

She shut her eyes. Her chest felt like someone had stuffed something in there; it was heavy and aching.

Before, whenever she and Jonah got into fights, he would stay away for days. He wouldn't come home, wouldn't answer her calls, and wouldn't reply to her messages.

She always caved first. She would cook a whole table of his favorite dishes and wait until late at night. The moment she heard the key turn in the lock, she would act as if nothing had happened, reheat the cold dishes, and set them down in front of him.

His expression would finally soften after taking a few bites, and she would be relieved.

Back then, Sylvie reminded herself that Jonah had lost his memories and had no family. She was all he had; she couldn't actually leave him. As long as he showed the slightest hint of backing down, she would soften and keep giving without holding anything back.

She'd once believed that was love. One person was willing to wait, and the other was willing to come home. Life would go on somehow.

Only now did she realize that all she'd done was swallow her hurt over and over, until his coldness felt normal, until his walking away felt like her fault.

He had enjoyed her care and the way she supported him, all while holding another woman in his heart. And when the truth finally came out, he hadn't hesitated to stand by that woman's side and pin the blame on her.

This wasn't the kind of fight that cooking a meal and giving in once could smooth over. It was a five-year-long scam.

Noelle was still furiously cursing Jonah on the other end of the line.

"I can't believe I used to think he was some honest, decent guy. Turns out he's just a wolf in sheep's clothing! He relied on you to feed him and put a roof over his head, then ran off to worship some other fake bitch. What a piece of trash!"

Sylvie sat there with her phone in hand, listening in silence. She said nothing. Somehow, listening to Noelle curse Jonah out seemed to crack open the massive weight pressing on her chest.

They talked for over an hour. By the time they hung up, it was almost midnight.

Sylvie felt a little stifled, so she stepped out onto the balcony for some air. She stood there for a while, then suddenly noticed that the light in the study next door was still on. In the dark, the warm yellow glow looked oddly lonely.

It was midnight, and Elliott still wasn't asleep?

Sylvie couldn't help feeling intrigued. Earlier that day, when Finn briefed her on her responsibilities, he'd only mentioned that Elliott had underlying health issues that needed careful management. He hadn't said a word about what exactly was wrong, though.

She bit her lip as a ridiculous thought popped into her head. Elliott was tall, built, and had an overwhelming presence. He didn't look like someone with a heart condition or anything like that. And if it were some straightforward illness, Finn wouldn't have been so cagey about it.

Could it be… that Elliott couldn't perform in bed?

For a 30-year-old man in his prime, a problem like that really was the most private, most humiliating thing he never wanted anyone to know.

The more Sylvie thought about it, the more plausible it sounded. She mumbled to herself, "Well, it's settled. Since I'm taking his money, I need to help solve his problems."

She decided that for tomorrow's lunch, she would add a few ingredients that helped in that department and boosted his energy. If she actually managed to fix his little "problem", her job here would be set in stone.

With that settled, Sylvie went back into her room, set her alarm for 5:00 am, and fell into a deep sleep.

…

Sylvie's alarm went off at 5:00 am sharp. Her eyes snapped open. She rubbed at them as she walked out to the balcony, startled to see that the light in the study next door was still on.

Had Elliott pulled an all-nighter?

She was just about to head back inside to wash up when the study light next door suddenly flicked off.

She immediately stepped out of her room. As soon as she reached the hallway, she saw Elliott come out of the study.

He wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing his wrists. He held an empty mug. His stunningly handsome face was etched with exhaustion, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Mr. Quinton." Sylvie hurried over and greeted him a little nervously.

Elliott glanced at her. His voice came out in a hoarse grunt.

"Let me get that. Do you want more water?" She held out both hands to take the mug from him.

He didn't refuse and passed it over.

The moment Sylvie took the mug, she caught a strong whiff of black coffee. A few dark brown drops still clung to the bottom.

Her brows furrowed at once. "Mr. Quinton, coffee on an empty stomach first thing in the morning is murder on your system. And you already have insomnia. Caffeine stimulates the nervous system and makes it even harder for your body to settle down. If you keep this up, your insomnia is only gonna get worse."

Elliott frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows. His head was already pounding, and her chattering only made his temples throb harder.

"Mind your own business." He tossed that out icily, impatience written all over his face.

Sylvie shrank back a little and wisely shut her mouth. Instead of making him more coffee, she headed into the kitchen, washed the mug, and filled it with warm water. Then, she handed the mug back to him.

He took it and turned to head back to his bedroom.

"Mr. Quinton!" she called out from behind him. "If you really can't sleep… how about I give you a head massage?"