"What did the young master do wrong?" Isri asked softly, his tone revealing little doubt, knowing that Cesil would not answer his question.
Sure enough, Cesil buried his head in Isri's neck again, and the tips of his fair and delicate ears were instantly stained red.
Isri smiled with satisfaction, led Sehir to the bathroom, and supported Sehir in one hand while filling the bathtub with warm water with the other.
"Do you need my help, young master?" Isri asked.
"No! Get out, I can wash myself."
Sehir immediately retorted, his eyes welling up with tears as he moved more violently and his face began to flow.
Isri placed Sehir on the ground, raised his hand, removed his gloves, and gently wiped away the tears on his face with his cool fingertips, his voice returning to its gentle tone.
"I'll be waiting for you outside."
Islam took a step back and bowed as he spoke.
Only after Isri left did Sehir dare to breathe a sigh of relief, and the slight trembling in his body slowly stopped.
After a while, Sehir's gaze finally fell on himself in the mirror.
The person in the mirror had fine, soft hair that gently fell across their forehead. Their slightly round face had features that looked exquisitely sculpted, and their skin was so white that it would turn pink if you pinched it.
Those jewel-like blue eyes were now slightly red from being squeezed by tears, making them look more like those of a new breed of rabbit.
Sehir swept his hair back and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As he took it off, he accidentally brushed against the back of his shirt, causing Sehir to gasp and his eyes to well up with tears.
Once again, Sehir looked at the doorway with resentment, then slowly shrank into the warm water and closed his eyes.
Reflecting on your conversation with Philip today, even though he's just a child, the things he says are half true and half false.
Such lies, mixed with truth, are often the most convincing. Cecil frowned even more deeply as he carefully analyzed every word Philip had said.
But the stimulation of the warm water made his lower back burn even more. Just as he was about to think of something, his mind was instantly filled with Isri's face.
Black hair is rare in West Asia, and his amber eyes further enhance his striking appearance, making him look almost otherworldly. His well-defined jawline gives Isri a captivating yet cold look.
"Young Master, what do I need your cooperation with tomorrow?" Isri's cold voice suddenly came into the bathroom.
Chapter Ten
When Sehir heard Isri's voice, he opened his eyes, a newfound determination in them.
I propped myself up a little from the bathtub and leaned against the side.
“I’ll take you with me tomorrow. All we need to do is catch the plane and leave to find the police.” Cecil’s voice carried through the empty bathroom, and to Isri outside, it sounded even more alluring.
“I understand, young master.” Isri glanced at the pocket watch on his chest, calculated the time, and spoke again.
"Young master, you can't bathe for so long, it's not good for your health."
Sehir listened to Isri's voice from inside but did not reply. Only the sound of water came out, which indirectly indicated Sehir's meaning.
You don't need to tell me, I know it myself.
Isri curled his lips into a smile, a white towel already draped over his arm.
Sehir opened the door, and a wave of heat rushed out. Isri stood by the door waiting.
Cecil wasn't wearing shoes; his round, full toes lightly touched the thick carpet, leaving a small imprint.
Because of the heat, her already fair skin was now slightly flushed pink, and the clothes around her neck were already a little damp from the water droplets in her hair.
Seeing this, Isri stepped forward and placed a dry towel over Sehir's head to wipe away the water droplets.
Inevitably, I felt a sense of helplessness. Taking a bath was always a difficult task for the young master, as he always managed to make a mess of everything in the bathroom.
After drying his hair with a towel, Isri picked up Sehir from the ground and held him in his arms.
"Why isn't the young master wearing shoes?"
Sehir raised his hand and absentmindedly dried his hair with a towel, making the neatly wrapped-up Isri look messy.
“My shoes are wet, it’s uncomfortable.” Cecil tilted his head and glanced at the wet shoes in the bathroom.
Isri carried Sehir to the bed, then turned and picked out another nightgown from the closet, draping it over his arm.
“Young Master, you’ll get cold if you stay wet like this.” Isri placed the pajamas he was holding on the bed and gently untied the straps binding Cesil’s collarbone with one hand.
Cecil was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly grabbed the clothes next to him and shoved Isri's hand away: "I'll change myself, you go and get ready."
A hint of despondency flashed in Isri's eyes, and his expression instantly darkened, but he still listened to Ceshir's words and spoke respectfully.
"Yes, young master."
In the bathroom, Isri rolled up his sleeves, revealing a section of his fair and slender arm. He removed the white gloves he was wearing, revealing a hint of pink on his well-defined fingertips.
Isri glanced at his reflection in the mirror, which was blurred by the mist, then pulled a white silk ribbon from his chest and tied it back around his hair.
Looking at the mess in the bathroom, Isri's lips curled up slightly.
As expected, the young master can't live without me.
Hearing the sounds from the bathroom, Sehir quickly changed his clothes and huddled under the covers. Isri seemed to know what Sehir was doing, turned around and came out of the bathroom, his voice soft.
"Young master, don't fall asleep. I'll go prepare the milk right away."
Sehir turned his head and looked at Isri, who had his hair pulled back. This wasn't the first time he had seen Isri like this.
But I always find myself captivated by Isri's appearance: fine beads of sweat gently clinging to his forehead, glistening moisture on the tip of his nose, and two buttons undone at the top of his collar.
Everything is just right.
After a pause, Hilton finally spoke, "I understand."
Islam smiled, bowed, and then stepped out of the door. A moment later, he returned with a cup of hot milk.
Sesil held the milk and shook it: "When can I stop drinking milk?"
“Young Master is still growing, so it can’t be stopped anytime soon,” Isri explained patiently.
Cecil took a sip, leaving a little milk stain on his pink lips. Isri calmly pulled out a tissue and gently wiped it off.
Milk is sweet, and Sehill actually likes it, but drinking a glass every night for a long time is no different from taking medicine.
Sehir's brow twitched slightly. He raised his head, poured the entire glass of milk down his throat, handed it to Isri, and immediately shrank into the blanket, all in one swift motion.
Amused by Sehir's appearance, Isri bent down and pulled the blanket up a little, then reached out and turned off the lamp next to him.
"Young master, see you tomorrow."
After speaking softly, Islam slowly retreated from the room and closed the door.
With his back to the door, the last trace of tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold glint.
The clothes Cesil had just worn were draped over his arm, still reeking of a disgusting stench. Isri wanted nothing more than to hack the man who smelled of them to death, but thinking of his young master's plan, he held back.
The clothes were burned and thrown into the pine forest, where they were blown away by a cold wind.
Islam stood outside, the cold air freezing the snowflakes that fell, his vulture-like eyes fixed on the tightly closed cellar door.
Sehir slept soundly, and woke up before Isri could even knock on the door.
When Islam re-entered the room, he was initially taken aback, then hurriedly bowed.
"I'm sorry, young master, I'm late."
“I just got up early,” Cecil answered, his eyes scanning his surroundings. “Where are my clothes?”
Only then did Isri remember and hand over the clothes he was holding: "Yesterday's were dirty, these are new."
Sehir took it from Isri, but after searching for a while, he still didn't know where to start. He frowned and said, "Why is it so complicated?"
Isri smiled inwardly and picked up the clothes: "Let me help the young master change."
“You did this on purpose?” Cesil raised an eyebrow, got off the bed, and did not refuse Isri’s request.
Isri replied with elegance and composure, "How could I, young master, dare to do that?"
Sehir inwardly scoffed, but his expression didn't change much.
The clothes in Isri's hands seemed to obey him; with a gentle flick of his nimble fingers, he opened them. Cesil looked at Isri in disbelief.
So easy? Why can't I do it? Thinking about it made my brows furrow, and I felt really annoyed.
"Is something on your mind, young master?"
Isri did not stop moving, and looked at Sehir's slightly furrowed brows as he spoke.
Cecil's expression vanished in an instant, quickly returning to calm as he looked ahead.
Islam's lips did not fall, and his hands remained nimble.
The young master's physique is as captivating as ever today.
Inevitably, Isri's movements slowed down, and he had to button up even the simplest button several times before he could do it.
At first, Sehir thought it was because the clothes were hard to wear, but later he realized that something was wrong.
He lowered his head, his eyes devoid of any emotion, staring at Isri like a pool of cold water.
"Don't do things that delay the process."
Chapter Eleven
Islam's hand froze for half a second, then he fastened the last button, took a step back, and smiled.
"I'm sorry, young master."
As Sehir looked at Isri's high-sounding words, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-deprecating.
The carriage was already prepared at the door; Isri always managed to have everything ready a second before anything happened.
Sehir was sitting in the carriage when he saw Isri carrying Philip. Sehir was about to make room for him when Isri spoke up first.
"Young Master, he and I can sit in the front, you don't need to move."
Cecil stopped in mid-air, glanced at Philip, and his disdain deepened.
Isri threw Philip onto the front seat with a loud bang, making the whole carriage jolt.
After a while, Philip, in pain, curled up in his front seat and remained motionless. Cecil glanced at him, then sat back down, turned his head, and looked out the window.
It's early morning market time, and women are usually out rushing to get the first fruits and vegetables, practically scrambling to squeeze in and grab them all.