The morning dragged on with unbearable weight. Lila lay curled in bed, her mother hovering near the door every now and then, peeking in to check if she needed anything. Her brothers had left for work earlier, their footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving the house in a strange hush. Ethan had lingered a little longer, fussing over her with a glass of warm water and an over-concerned look that reminded her too much of a guardian instead of a brother. She had waved him away weakly, the stabbing pain in her lower abdomen making it impossible to put up much of an argument.
Even the painkillers she had taken offered no relief. Her body ached, her forehead burned with a thin layer of sweat, and every muscle felt as though it had been wrung dry. Yet, despite the pain, a part of her restless heart longed to move. Resting in bed while her thoughts circled endlessly was more suffocating than the cramps.
Her phone vibrated softly under the pillow. She reached for it with effort, blinking against the brightness of the screen. A new message. Her heart skipped before she even opened it.
Nathaniel: Come to me. We need to talk.
She stared at the words, her lips pressing into a thin line. Logic told her to stay, to tell him she wasn't well. But her chest tightened at the thought of refusing him, of missing a chance to see him again. Maybe it wasn't duty that pulled her out of bed this time—it was something else. Something warmer. Something she didn't dare name.
She dressed slowly, quietly, hiding her movements from her mother. The woman would never let her leave in this condition. A practiced lie slipped to her lips as she passed the living room: "I'm going for a group reading. I'll be back before evening." Her mother, though worried, nodded after a pause, her trust unshaken by the daughter who had always been dutiful.
The walk to Nathaniel's residence felt longer than usual, every step dragging with her pain. By the time she reached the gates of his house, her knees trembled beneath her. She had never been here before, and the sheer scale of it stunned her into silence. The estate stretched wide, tall iron gates gleaming under the sun, guarded by men in sharp suits who stood at attention. The guards exchanged brief glances as she approached, but none dared stop her once her name was given. She was allowed in without question, the gates sliding open with a heavy groan.
The mansion loomed ahead like something carved from marble and shadow. The air itself felt colder inside, the floors polished to a shine that reflected her weary figure as she walked. Her legs nearly gave out at the entrance, but she steadied herself, forcing her body to move.
When she entered the grand room, her eyes immediately caught him. Nathaniel was seated in an armchair, his back straight, his face illuminated faintly by the late-afternoon light spilling through the tall glass windows. His presence filled the space more than the gilded furniture ever could. Cold. Composed. Yet when his gaze lifted and locked onto her, the lines of his face shifted—subtle, but noticeable.
She didn't wait for him to invite her to sit. The strength she had left was too fragile to waste on propriety. She sank into the chair opposite him, her breath uneven, her forehead damp.
His sharp eyes narrowed. "The date for the operation has been moved," he said in his usual calm tone, though his gaze lingered on her face longer than his words required. "I want to confirm more information before you go in."
She only nodded, her head bobbing slightly as if even holding it up was a task. Her eyelids fluttered, her body yearning for rest.
"You don't look well," he said after a pause, his voice quieter now.
She nodded once, then shook her head, as if her body couldn't decide which answer to give.
That was enough to make him rise. His footsteps were swift but measured as he crossed the space between them. His hand, cool yet strangely steady, touched her forehead. The shock of contact jolted her eyes open, and for a moment she saw something flicker in his face—concern, raw and unguarded.
"You're burning up." His jaw tightened. "I'll take you to a hospital."
"No." Her voice was hoarse but firm. "It's… It's just my period."
His hand stilled. For the first time, he looked awkward, his brows knitting together in a way that didn't suit the man who commanded fear with every word. "Your period?"
She nodded, lips trembling into something between embarrassment and exhaustion.
He studied her silently before speaking again, softer than before. "You were always like this. Around this time. In your old body. It was always worse."
Her breath caught. She hadn't expected him to notice something so small, so private. She nodded again, unable to speak, shock threading through her chest.
He turned abruptly, hiding whatever expression had crossed his face, and motioned for her to follow. "Come."
She obeyed, too weak to argue. He led her through the polished halls into a room that smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen—his room. The weight of the space pressed around her, intimate and untouchable.
"Lie down," he said, gesturing to the bed.
She sank into the mattress without protest, her body melting into the comfort. His voice reached her again, low but firm. "Why did you come if you knew you weren't well?"
Her lips parted, but no answer came. She only shook her head lightly, eyes fluttering closed. Sleep dragged at her before she could think of a reply.
He lingered there for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, then left the room. Outside, his expression hardened once again. One of the guards straightened at his approach.
"Get a heating pad," Nathaniel ordered.
The guard blinked, surprise flashing across his face. "A… heating pad, sir?"
Nathaniel's sharp gaze cut him off. "Do you need me to repeat myself?"
The man hurried away. As soon as the door closed behind him, another guard leaned toward his companion with a hushed whisper. "Since when does Mr. Nathaniel take care of anyone? Did you see the girl who went in? Looks like the same one he confessed about at that party…"
"Shut up before he hears you," the other snapped, though curiosity burned in his eyes as well.
Inside the room, Nathaniel paced briefly, restless in a way foreign to him. His control slipped at the sight of her shifting uncomfortably on the bed, her brow furrowing even in sleep. He remembered this. The helplessness. The nights he had watched her—no, her old self—suffer through the same pain. He had always felt it in his chest, though he had never shown it.
The guard returned, heating pad in hand, but Nathaniel dismissed him with a cold look before he could say anything more. He poured hot water carefully, his long fingers steady, then returned to the bedside.
Her body stirred faintly as he placed the warmth against her stomach. Her lashes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. "You… don't have to."
"Why wouldn't I?" His voice was low, almost sharp, but softened at the end. "Why wouldn't I care for my sister?"
The word felt strange on his tongue, not fitting the weight in his chest.
Her lips curved weakly, the faintest shadow of a smile. "I always… wish it could be like this between us. That's why I… always pray my period will come every month. So I can see your warm side."
Something twisted inside him. His lips twitched into the ghost of a chuckle. "Silly girl."
Her eyes closed again, and he remained by her side, watching her breathe. His rare smile lingered, faint but real, hidden in the quiet.
By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with dusky hues, she stirred awake with more strength than before. She sat up slowly, brushing her hair back. "I should go home."
His mouth parted as if to speak, then closed again. He only nodded, leading her to the door. "I'll drive you."
The car ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. She could feel his eyes flicker to her now and then, his hand tightening slightly on the steering wheel. When they reached her home, she stepped out and turned, offering a soft "Thank you" before closing the door.
Inside, the dining room was filled with warmth. Her family sat together, the clatter of cutlery and the murmur of voices a sharp contrast to the cold grandeur she had just left.
Her mother spotted her first, rising from her chair with surprise. "Where have you been? I thought you were in your room."
Lila's lips curved into an easy lie. "I felt a little better, so I went for a stroll."
Her mother studied her for a moment, then nodded. "How are you feeling now?"
"Better," she said.
"Then come and eat with us."
She joined them, sliding into her seat quietly. Ethan glanced at her curiously. "What happened to you? Mother said you were sick."
Before she could answer, her mother replied for her. "She was unwell this morning. It seems she's better now."
Ethan leaned forward, reaching to check her forehead. Instinctively, she jerked back, unaccustomed to such gestures.
"Relax, sister," he said with a grin. "I'm not trying to stone you. Just checking your temperature."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
David, across the table, remained silent, his eyes flicking between them. He didn't speak, but when she lowered her gaze to her plate, she noticed mushrooms had been added there—her favorite. She looked up briefly, catching him in the act. He averted his eyes, feigning indifference.
Ethan noticed, smirking. "Careful, David. She might think you're finally being nice."
David's only response was a scoff, stabbing at his own food.
Their mother smiled softly, watching her children with quiet satisfaction. "Eat," she said.
As the meal went on, laughter and small banter filled the air. Lila's heart ached with a strange warmth. She ate the mushrooms slowly, savoring them, thinking of how the old Lila must have loved this just as much.
Later, in the solitude of her room, she lay on her bed, fingers brushing lightly over her stomach where Nathaniel had placed the heating pad earlier. The warmth had faded, but the memory lingered. His rare smile, his awkward concern, the quiet drive home. And here, her family's simple, genuine care.
For the first time in a long while, she closed her eyes with something close to peace.