Chapter 11
Harlow did not know why the doctor would say that until a cool voice sounded behind her.
“I’m not her husband.”
She turned.
Cillian had appeared behind her at some point, silent as a ghost with a law degree.
The clinic’s bright light cast a faint shadow over the sharp planes of his face, making his expression even harder to read.
Hadn’t he left?
Why had he come back?
“Sorry, I thought you two were married.” The old doctor handed the prescription to Harlow and corrected himself. “Then have your boyfriend get the medicine. Don’t put weight on that leg for now.”
“He’s not…”
Harlow wanted to clarify that Cillian was not her boyfriend either, but before she finished, Cillian plucked the prescription from her hand.
He did not even look at her. He glanced at the writing, then walked toward the pharmacy next door.
Harlow watched his tall figure disappear through the doorway. Something nameless twisted tight in her chest.
She really could not understand this man’s behavior anymore.
When the old doctor saw Cillian leave, he leaned closer and whispered to Harlow, “Your boyfriend is very handsome, but his aura is too cold.”
Harlow had meant to explain everything. But the doctor’s serious expression as he roasted Cillian was too much. She smiled.
“Don’t mind him. He’s always like that.”
After Harlow’s leg was bandaged, she left the clinic with Cillian.
“Why did you come back?” she asked.
“Victor Lane was worried about you.”
“Victor was worried about me. So why did you come back?”
“Your leg is injured. Talk less.”
Harlow: “…”
What kind of logic was that? Had the doctor prescribed silence now?
The Cullinan was parked outside the clinic. Cillian opened the passenger door and gestured at her.
“Get in.”
“You can go first. I dropped something. I still have to go back and find it.”
His gaze lowered to her bandaged leg. “With that leg?”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt as much now.”
Cillian looked impatient. He muttered, “Troublesome,” then reached out, pushed her into the car, and locked the door.
“What are you doing?” Harlow slapped the window in alarm. “I really have to go back. That thing is important. I have to find it.”
Cillian acted as if he had not heard. He got into the car and started the engine.
“Cillian Emerson. Let me out!”
Harlow yanked at the door lock, but it would not open. She was about to lose her temper when she realized Cillian had turned the car around and was heading back toward Cresswell Abbey.
He was taking her there?
Since when was he that kind?
For the second time that day, Harlow felt something was very off with Cillian Emerson.
“I can actually take a taxi back myself.”
“Stop talking.” Cillian’s voice was cool. “The mountain is huge. If something happens to you, I’ll be the last person who saw you alive. That makes me annoyingly difficult to clear as a suspect.”
Harlow: “…”
His mouth was truly poisonous. Could he not wish her anything slightly less corpse-adjacent?
The car drove back along the mountain road.
Unlike the panic of her earlier escape, the cabin now held a strange quiet. The engine hummed low. Tree shadows slid past the windows. For a moment, the world seemed to have narrowed to the two of them.
Harlow’s nerves eased by a fraction. The pain in her leg dulled. She leaned back in the passenger seat, her eyes drifting before she could stop them to Cillian’s hands on the steering wheel.
Long fingers. Clear joints. Steady and strong as he controlled the expensive car with the ease of someone long used to power.
Who would have thought that six years ago, the owner of those hands could not even afford driving lessons?
Back then, Cillian had just graduated. For convenience during his internship, he bought a bicycle. It did not have a back seat at first, so he installed one especially for her.
Miss Gideon had ridden in countless luxury cars, but never on a bicycle. Every time, she climbed on carefully, sitting sideways, arms wrapped around him tight. Tight enough to feel his young body and the tension in his muscles.
Cillian loved teasing her. On downhill roads, he would deliberately wobble the bike until she laughed, cursed, and bit him. He never complained when she bit him.
At night, however, he would always hold grudges and bite back in a very different way.
“We’re here.”
Those two cold words sliced through the memory like scissors.
Harlow came back to herself.
Cillian had already parked and turned off the engine. He unbuckled his seat belt and got out first.
Harlow got out and looked around. Cillian had a good sense of direction. This was indeed where she had flagged down the car earlier.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“A tiny camera.”
Cillian looked over her outfit again. So that was it. She had dressed like this to play detective.
“If you don’t want to walk through mud, you can wait in the car,” Harlow said.
Cillian was expensive from head to toe now. If those shoes got dirty, the cleaning fee alone was probably five figures.
He did not answer. He only asked, “Do you remember where you dropped it?”
“In the weeds.”
Cillian scoffed. “Excellent choice.”
Harlow turned her head and went stupid for a second.
Why were there so many weeds on this road?
The sky was getting dark.
Harlow endured the pain in her leg and searched by memory, staggering slightly. Cillian followed behind her with a stick he had picked up, using it to push through clumps of grass.
No one else was in the woods. Dry branches cracked under their feet from time to time, making the silence around them feel even more unnerving.
Suddenly, a bush beside Harlow’s foot shook violently.
Before she could react, something long, narrow, and yellow-brown shot out with a rustle of fur, brushing past her pant leg.
“Ah!”
Harlow nearly jumped out of her skin. She gave a sharp, short scream and instinctively shrank sideways, grabbing Cillian’s sleeve with both hands.
“What was that?” Her voice trembled.
“A weasel.”
Harlow’s heart was still hammering.
Cillian lowered his eyes. His gaze landed on her hands clenched around his sleeve, deep and unreadable.
The weasel had already vanished into the grass.
The woods returned to silence.
Under Cillian’s silent stare, Harlow snapped back to herself. As if burned, she let go of his sleeve and stepped back, putting distance between them.
“Sorry,” she said, mortified enough to consider digging a hole and living in it. “I was just startled.”
Cillian slowly brushed the wrinkles from his sleeve.
“After all these years, Miss Gideon has grown older, but not braver.” His venom landed with perfect stability. “A field mouse has more backbone than you.”
Harlow wanted to argue.
No words came out.
She only wanted to get away from the weasel-infested area as fast as possible. But the moment she stepped forward, heat spilled through the wound on her calf, and a piercing pain tore through her again.
Damn it.
The sudden dodge must have split the wound open.
“My leg…” Harlow crouched in pain.
“What happened?”
