"What is the young master thinking about?" Isri's voice remained calm.
Sehir clenched his fist, but remembering what Isri had just done, he restrained himself and raised his hand to place it in Isri's.
Isri picked up a clump of cotton with tweezers, dipped it in the clear liquid, and said in a softer voice, "Young Master, it might hurt a little, please bear with it."
As she spoke, she pushed up Cecil's sleeve, revealing a striking red band around his fair wrist, with some areas even scraped raw.
Isri looked even more distressed, and his grip loosened considerably, making him seem like a completely different person from before.
The redness under Cesil's eyes hadn't faded yet, and he looked at the thing in Isri's hand with great curiosity. He had only heard of this thing, but had never seen it before.
He rarely gets injured; you could say he's been very well protected.
Sehir stared intently at the thing in Isri's hand; it felt cool and pleasant on his skin.
Suddenly, the cotton touched the wound, and Cecil shuddered, jerking his hand back as the wound still stung painfully.
“Young Master, the wound will get infected if it’s not disinfected.” Isri extended his hand again.
Sesil clenched his fists, looking at the thing: "Why does it hurt so much?"
Isri smiled slightly, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his eye: "Young Master, bear with it, or it will hurt even more later."
Upon hearing the words "it hurts even more," Sesil gritted his teeth again and placed his hand on it.
Isri moved very gently, but still couldn't avoid getting medicine on the wound, causing Sehir to twitch in pain.
Seeing Isri applying medicine to his wrist, Cesil seemed to have thought of something, glanced at Isri's injured area, and asked.
"Did you use this medicine when you were injured here?" Sehir's voice was still trembling, whether from fear or the pain in his wrist, it was hard to tell.
Isri paused for a moment, glanced at his injured spot, and then met Cesil's eyes.
"It's been used."
Hearing what Isri said, Ceshir lowered his head and remained silent. He knew about Isri's wound; his shoulder had been pierced through, and the pain was unimaginable.
Adding this medicine would only make matters worse. Cecil recalled how Isri had collapsed at the door earlier, and his pain intensified.
"Does it still hurt?" A question echoed softly in the large room.
Isri wrapped the gauze around Cesil's wrist and tied it in a perfect knot.
"Thank you for your concern, young master. It doesn't hurt anymore." Isri's heart was pounding without him realizing it, and his gaze drifted involuntarily to Cecil's delicate lips.
The pinkish-white flesh resembled a newly opened flower bud, soft and exuding an alluring fragrance. Isri tidied up the box and stood motionless by the bed.
Sehir glanced at Isri and said, "I'm not drinking milk today, so don't prepare any for me."
“Yes, young master,” Isri said, bowing, but he did not move.
"What are you standing there for?" Cecil burrowed deeper into the blankets, but accidentally aggravated his wound, causing his face to twitch.
Isri narrowed his eyes slightly, his amber eyes looking at Ceshir as if he were looking at food.
Islam took a few steps forward and led Ceshir to his side, bending down to remove his gloves.
A wicked thought ignited in his mind.
"Young master, don't move," Isri said slowly, raising his hand to Cecil's lips and gently rubbing it a few times with his thumb.
"What's wrong?" Cecil instinctively wanted to dodge, but then held back.
The opening and closing of his mouth left a wet mark on Isri's thumb, and Isri could feel his heart skip a beat.
"Young Master has something on his lips, I'll be going now." Isri hurriedly bowed, turned around and closed the door, leaning against the outside.
In the darkness, Isri’s eyes shone terrifyingly bright, his ear tips were bright red, and his right thumb, illuminated by the moonlight, still glistened with a watery sheen.
Islam's throat tightened terribly, and his breathing became somewhat unsteady. After swallowing the last mouthful of saliva, Islam's lips curved into a beautiful smile.
He lightly touched his fingertip with his tongue, a mere touch, yet it completely unsettled Isri's heart.
His ambitions were so great that they could only contain Cecil alone.
A predatory aura flashed in his amber eyes; his young master would always be his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sehir lay on the bed with his eyes half-closed, only opening them again after Isri had left.
The room was lit only by a faint yellow light. Tonight, the clouds completely obscured the moon. Cecil glanced out the window and then quietly climbed out of bed.
With each step, Sehir looked up at the closed door, afraid that Isri would hear his voice.
Cecil stepped onto the cold ground, the chill running down his kneecaps. Ignoring it, Cecil tiptoed a few more steps, but he lost his footing and tripped and fell to the ground.
In an instant, his heart pounded wildly in the silence, as if it had lost its soul. Even holding his breath was of no use. Sehir nervously closed his eyes and began to prepare his next words in his mind.
She lay on the ground for more than ten seconds, but no one came in. Her heart began to slowly return to normal. Cecil opened her trembling eyelashes. The room was still the same as before, with nothing changed.
Isri was gone, which was certainly not the best news. Sehir hurriedly got up from the ground and rushed to the wardrobe.
Sehir excitedly pulled open the wardrobe, his eyes not lingering on the gorgeous clothes on top, but instead rummaging through the items buried underneath.
Having managed to find a few clothes that weren't too difficult for her to wear, Cyril closed the wardrobe with satisfaction, completely ignoring the bone-chilling cold under her feet, and shoved herself under the bed, opening her secret little door.
Saisil checked the contents again, a smile playing on her lips, and put the clothes she was holding inside before climbing into bed and snuggling under the covers.
—
As expected, he was woken up by a sneeze the next day before he was fully awake. He was dizzy and groggy when he got out of bed, and his hands and feet were so tired that he could barely lift them.
Sahir frowned, and within a second, he shrank back into the covers, this time even covering his head.
Isri had everything ready. He knocked lightly on the door a few times and then pushed the food cart in. The woman on the bed remained curled up, motionless, completely oblivious to who had come in from outside.
Isri draped a towel over his arm and said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, "Young Master, it's time to get up."
The person on the bed remained silent. Isri was not in a hurry. He turned around, poured warm water into a cup, and held it in his hand.
“Young Master, staying in bed too long is not a good thing,” Isri said, bending down.
Sehir was annoyed by Isri, so he pulled the blanket off himself and glared at Isri: "Get out!"
Isri was taken aback at first, then his gaze fell on the reddened face, and a look of annoyance immediately rose between his brows.
Isri put the water aside and scooped the person up from the bed. To avoid touching the wound from last night, Isri carefully held Ceshir in his arms.
"Young Master, what did you do last night?" Isri asked in a low voice.
Sehir panicked and his eyes darted around: "I didn't do anything."
Ishri ignored Sehir's words, turned around, took out the warm towel from the plate, and handed it to Sehir.
Sehir glanced at Isri, then took the towel and brought it to his face. When he removed it, the warm touch had been replaced by a cool breeze that blew on his face, relieving the dizziness in his head.
"Young Master, please rest at home today. I'll go prepare the medicine." Isri placed Cesil on the bed and covered him with the blanket.
As he turned to leave, Isri suddenly looked back at Sehir, his eyes like a deep pool, unfathomable, his voice unusually calm, but to Sehir it sounded like a threat.
"Young Master, it's best not to run around like that." With that, Isri closed the door and left, leaving Sehir on the bed, his blood pressure soaring to its peak once again.
~
Before Isri could even enter from outside, Sehir had already smelled the unpleasant odor and immediately sat down at the far end of the bed.
The bowl of dark medicine pushed into the dining car instantly made Sehir feel nauseous, and a fine sweat broke out on his back.
Isri held the medicine in his hand and handed it to Sehir: "Come and drink your medicine."
Sehir stood his ground for a few seconds, but ultimately couldn't resist Isri's pressure and slowly moved in front of the dark thing.
Sehir held the bowl, took a small sip, and immediately moved the bowl away: "Can I not drink it?"
Isri was already very irritable. The young master had never been sick before, and now this was happening one after another, it was almost as if it was on purpose.
“I remember the young master wasn’t this willful before.” Isri looked at Ceshir, paused, and asked indifferently, “Will the young master drink or not?”
Sehir was startled by Isri. After thinking about it carefully, he realized that there had indeed been too many things going on lately, so he quickly picked up the bowl and ate several large mouthfuls.
The moment the pungent medicine rushed down his throat, Sehir's brows furrowed tightly. Without even looking up, he shoved the medicine into Isri's hand after finishing the last sip.
"Get out!" Sehir said angrily.
Isri put the bowl back into the food cart, then took out a small piece of cake and placed it on the shelf on the bed.
"Young Master, the cake is ready. Please eat and get some rest."
Islam returned to his previous calm, quietly closing the door as he pushed the food cart.
When they returned to the first floor, there was a sudden and very impolite knocking on the door. Ishri ignored it and returned the food cart to the kitchen. When he came out, the knocking was still going on.
In order not to disturb Sehir's rest, Isri still went forward and opened the door.
"Why are you only opening the door now!" A woman in a burgundy dress stood outside, glaring arrogantly at Isri.
Islam frowned slightly, and was about to say something when the woman was suddenly pushed aside. Behind her was a well-dressed gentleman who immediately took off his hat and bowed when he saw Islam.
"Hello, I'm here to see my nephew," the man said respectfully.
Seeing this, Isri took a step back and opened the door a little wider: "And you are?"
The man's lips curled up, and his mustache curved into the shape of the number eight: "You don't know, do you? We are a branch of the Cretis family, a very small one."
The woman stood there angrily, still upset that her husband had pushed her away.
Islam thought for a few seconds, but he couldn't recall anyone like that. However, given the current situation, no one dared to say that, so he let them in.
Behind the woman was a child, making a lot of noise. Isri looked at him, a hint of disgust flashing in his eyes, but under the pressure of his status, Isri still bowed respectfully and said, "I will go and inform the young master, please wait a moment."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Islam left the group out of sight, turned around and went upstairs to the second floor. After standing in front of the door for a second or two, he gently knocked on the door, pushed it open, and went inside.
Sehir lay on the bed, frowning slightly, turned to his side, and said with a hint of anger in his voice, "Didn't I tell you to leave?"
“Young Master, your relative has arrived,” Isri said softly, stating his purpose.
relative?
Sehir paused for half a second, then sat up in bed, his head still spinning. He glanced at Isri, got out of bed, and asked, "Who is it?"
Isri stepped forward, took the shawl off the hanger, and draped it over Cesil's shoulders, saying respectfully, "I'm sorry, I don't recall it."