Chapter 7

Elliott's footsteps faltered. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a week. His brain felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles. The migraine he had was bad enough to drive a person insane; his temper was stretched to the breaking point because of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment and, in the end, relented. "Go ahead."

He turned around, set his mug on the coffee table, and sank onto the wide leather couch.

"Okay. Give me just a second." Sylvie lit up.

She jogged into the bathroom and washed her hands thoroughly under warm water. Then, she briskly rubbed her palms together until they turned hot before walking back to the couch.

Elliott sat with his eyes closed, his head thrown back against the couch. His jawline was as taut as a drawn blade.

Sylvie took a deep breath and reached out, pressing the pads of her fingertips to his temples. Her movements were light and gentle. Her warm fingertips carried the faintest hint of a herbal scent as they traced slow circles over his pressure points.

Elliott visibly tensed.

"Relax, Mr. Quinton. Match your breathing to my words. Breathe out… and in…"

Sylvie's voice was as soft and pleasant as a spring breeze, soothing and steady. Her fingers moved from his temples to his crown, massaging the pressure point there. The pressure was just right, with a surprising amount of force behind it.

Elliott felt a warm current slowly seep from her fingertips into his parched, agitated mind. To his surprise, the sharp, stabbing pain actually eased a little.

Her fingers shifted to the points at the base of his skull and behind his ears. She used her family's traditional massage technique, passed down for generations, specifically to calm the nerves and improve sleep.

Under her ministrations, Elliott's rigid shoulders gradually loosened. His eyes, which were usually full of ice, stayed tightly shut. Even his breathing started to even out.

Sylvie didn't stop. She stood behind the couch, repeating the motions over and over with painstaking patience.

Over an hour slipped by. Her arms were so sore she could barely lift them, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead. Still, she only stopped when she heard his slow breathing and saw his head tip slightly to one side. He was completely out.

That face, usually so cold it bordered on harsh, finally relaxed into something unguarded and gentle.

Sylvie let out a long breath of relief. She straightened up carefully and rubbed her wrists that ached so badly they felt like they were about to snap off. Then, she went back to the guest room, grabbed a thin throw, and gently draped it over Elliott.

Once she was done, she checked the time. It was almost 7:00 am. She needed to get groceries.

She grabbed her bag, changed her shoes, and headed out.

Islewood Residences was tucked into the city's busiest downtown core, surrounded on all sides by towering office buildings. But the moment one stepped past the gates, the stone walls and dense greenery shut out all the noise, turning chaos into instant calm.

Sylvie stopped first at the upscale supermarket inside the community. But when she saw a single tomato priced at three bucks, she quietly set the basket back down.

Way too expensive. It was daylight robbery.

Sure, she'd just received a 250,000-dollar advance, but she still needed to save money for Esther's medication. Every cent had to be spent where it really counted.

So she left the community instead and walked for a little over ten minutes until she found an old neighborhood market nearby. The place was packed and buzzing with life.

Sylvie wandered through the place, picking and choosing. She finally bought a few ingredients for a nourishing meal.

On her way back with her hands full of groceries, she passed a massive private hospital. A bright, eye-catching hiring notice was posted on the bulletin board by the main entrance.

"Now hiring: traditional medicine department assistants, physical therapists…"

Sylvie abruptly stopped. She'd learned everything she knew from Robert, but without a formal degree or license, she'd always been stuck grinding away at the bottom.

Still, in her heart, she'd never given up on her dream of working as a doctor in a hospital. Being a temp assistant was better than nothing.

She pulled out her phone and carefully snapped a few photos of the job posting. If there was even the slightest chance, she wanted to give it a shot.

…

By the time Sylvie got back to the apartment and finished cooking lunch, it was already 11:30 am.

Elliott woke to an unfamiliar, mouthwatering smell. His eyes snapped open, and he was momentarily disoriented.

Normally, waking up meant slamming headfirst into another wave of pain and emptiness. But that day, his mind was clearer than it had been in ages.

He glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 am. He'd actually slept for almost five straight hours. That was something that simply never happened to him.

He sat up, and the throw slid off him.

Sylvie was busy at the stove. Sunlight spilled over her, soft and unreal.

Elliott glanced down at the throw in his hand, then back at her petite figure. His gaze darkened, turning impossible to read.

She really did seem to have some skills. If her massages could actually cure his insomnia, then keeping her around suddenly didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"Mr. Quinton, you're awake?" Sylvie came out carrying a beautifully plated dish, her eyes crinkling as she smiled brightly. "Wash up, and we can eat."

Elliott didn't respond. He stood and strode into the bedroom. Ten minutes later, he came back out in a fresh set of loungewear and sat down at the dining table.

Sylvie sat across from him, propping her chin in her hands as she studied his face.

"Mr. Quinton, you look way better today. Guess that nap this morning did the trick," she said cheerily. "If you still can't sleep tonight, I can give you another massage."

Elliott picked up his cutlery and gave her an impassive look. He said flatly, "I have a video conference tonight. Be in my bedroom at 5:00 am."

Sylvie was taken aback. She remembered perfectly well that in the rules Finn had given her, the master bedroom was absolutely off-limits. But now, Elliott was telling her to go into his bedroom. He clearly had the final say on how the rules worked.

She didn't press it and just nodded obediently. "Okay. Got it. Is this your usual daily schedule?"

"Yeah," he said indifferently.

Sylvie did the math in her head at lightning speed. She looked at him hopefully, her eyes shining. "So… aside from giving you a massage every day, plus the time it takes to make lunch and dinner, I can use the rest of the time however I want?"

Elliott didn't even look up as he took another bite of food with effortless grace. "That's up to you."

She was delighted. She sprang to her feet and gave him a deep, almost comically formal bow. "Thank you so much, Mr. Quinton!"

She beamed like a kid who'd just been handed a bag of candy.

With free time, she could go out and get another job, keep hustling on the side. 250,000 dollars sounded like a lot, but Esther's medication was a bottomless pit, and her family's debts were still hanging over her head.

She couldn't just rely on the money Elliott had given her.