CHAPTER 71: CHAPTER 71: WIPING HIM DOWN, HE REACTS

Timothy Xavier’s brow was knotted tight.

But for his daughter’s sake, he didn’t say an extra word—just took out his phone.

As soon as my phone pinged, another 10 million landed in my account.

"Is it enough now?" His tone was simmering with restrained anger.

I put away my phone, face blank, and said, "Wait here."

I told Nanny Lowell directly to bring the oven and ingredients to the hospital.

After all, Serena left this child here—I really had no clue what her motive was.

Anything I made, I had to do it right in front of Timothy Xavier. Otherwise, who knows if she’d accuse me of putting something into the ingredients to harm her daughter?

It didn’t take long before Nanny Lowell brought all the cake-baking materials.

Timothy was leaning on the headboard reading documents. Doris grabbed a little stool to sit beside him, pretending to leaf through her picture book, but the corner of her eye kept sneaking glances at me.

I didn’t say a word, busying myself at the table.

While I was whipping cream, the little girl couldn’t hold back and came over. "Can you really make Labubu? Last time the uncle at the bakery made it, even the ears were crooked!"

"Just wait and eat."

I didn’t even look up, my hands never stopping.

She was stifled by that, puffed her cheeks, and stomped back to her seat—but her eyes were glued to me the whole time.

Towards evening, I finally finished the cake Doris wanted.

She’d obviously been waiting ages. She couldn’t help an awed gasp, "Wow, it’s really Labubu!"

But right after, like she suddenly realized something, she quickly forced down her greedy look and said, "Well... it just looks okay, I guess!"

I sneered silently. What a twisted personality, just like Timothy Xavier’s.

The room was filled with the rich smell of cake. Doris swallowed hard several times and turned to Timothy: "Daddy, can I eat some?"

"Let your dad eat first!"

I cut Timothy a piece, my voice cold.

When I handed Timothy the cake, a rare surprise flickered across his icy face.

I said, "You eat first and check if it’s poisonous. Don’t blame my cake when your daughter gets the runs or throws up."

Timothy’s face instantly darkened. He set the ceramic plate aside and said coldly, "You know I don’t like sweets."

"Daddy, I like sweets."

Doris ran over, looking up at him with puppy eyes.

Timothy’s mouth softened with affection as he picked the plate back up and started feeding her, bite by bite.

Halfway through the cake, Timothy got a few work calls.

He wanted me to feed his daughter for him, but I didn’t do it.

Doris knew I didn’t care much for her, so she took the plate herself and went to eat at the coffee table.

She ate as she grumbled, "It’s not even that good, I’m just hungry."

I glanced at her, ignored the comment, and sat on the living room sofa updating my novel.

Not long after, Sophia Kendall pushed the door open, carrying Timothy’s dinner.

When she saw Doris eating cake, she frowned. "Doris, where did that come from?"

Doris pointed at me. "She made it. Grandma, do you want to try some?"

Sophia’s guard went up immediately. She grabbed the plate and pitched it straight into the trash, scolding, "Didn’t Grandma tell you? Never eat food from a stranger!"

"Grandma! What are you doing? Daddy paid for that!"

Doris stamped her feet in distress, but Sophia held her back tightly.

"Paid or not! Can you touch this woman’s stuff?"

My mother-in-law glared at me. "Where’s Timothy? Where is he?"

I stayed focused on my novel, didn’t even lift an eyelid, responding coolly, "Don’t know, he just went out!"

Sophia instantly flew into a rage, stormed over to shove me. "Is this how you take care of Timothy? He’s sick and you don’t even know where he’s gone? Or did you plan to hurt his daughter while he was away!"

Just then, Timothy came back in from outside. He frowned, "Mom, I was walking in the corridor—I could hear you all the way from the end."

Sophia pulled Doris closer, complaining, "Look what your daughter’s eating! And you let her eat food from this woman?"

Timothy complained, "I was right here watching—what’s the worst that could happen?"

"That’s not good enough!"

Sophia said, "Doris, come home with Grandma! Don’t ever interact with this malicious woman again."

With that, Sophia dragged her granddaughter out the door.

As they left, Doris looked back at the half-eaten cake on the table every few steps.

The door slammed shut. The room went quiet.

I let out a soft sigh, walked over, took the dinner Sophia brought, and set it out on the table.

But Timothy didn’t touch it. Instead, he walked over to where I left the half-finished cake, picked it up, and started eating carefully.

I was genuinely surprised. "Don’t you not like sweets?"

He glanced at me, cold as ever. "I paid 10 million for it. I’ll eat it if I want."

"I’m going out for some air!"

I felt stifled with him around every second.

He said, "Wait till I’ve eaten, then we’ll go together."

I took a deep breath—suddenly, even that "fresh air" felt pointless.

Just then, Jack Sullivan knocked and entered with another meal box.

He caught sight of Timothy eating cake, clearly a bit taken aback.

I explained, "He already has dinner. His mother brought it earlier."

I couldn’t help but think Timothy really didn’t treat staff like people. Someone had just brought him food, yet here’s another delivery late at night.

But what I didn’t expect was Jack saying to me, "Ma’am, this meal is for you."

He opened it up—meat and veggies, lavishly prepared.

Jack smiled and said, "President Xavier told me to buy it. He said you have stomach problems and anemia, so you should eat some meat to supplement."

I hadn’t even reacted when Timothy’s icy voice cut in, "So you don’t faint or throw up again and avoid looking after me. You have to be full to serve me well."

Suddenly, the food in front of me lost all flavor.

I thanked Jack and ate a few bites at random.

When I finished, Timothy was already standing up. "Didn’t you want to get some air?"

Seeing he wanted to go too, I said perfunctorily, "I don’t feel like it anymore."

No matter what, I couldn’t escape him. What difference did it make where we went?

Timothy frowned faintly. "But I want to go! Help me with my coat."

I went to the wardrobe, got his cashmere overcoat, and put it on him. Then I went to the hospital garden out back together with him.

The whole way, neither of us spoke a word. Silence on both sides.

I’d known him for twenty years, but now we’d come to this—no words left to say.

Timothy, though just out of surgery, hadn’t injured his leg, so he was fine walking around.

We circled the back garden for half an hour, and he showed no sign of stopping.

But my knee was already crawling with pain.

A month ago at Westcliff Monastery I’d knelt on the stone steps, and to this day I still couldn’t walk much at a time.

A few extra steps and it’d go numb with pain.

When I stopped, he frowned. "Even taking a walk with me makes you this miserable?"

The night wind in the hospital garden was chilly. I thought of that stormy day at Westcliff—the rain, and my blood winding down the steps.

Facing his dissatisfied question, I said flatly, "My knee hurts too much. I can’t walk. Go on by yourself."

I turned and walked away, slow as a snail.

Timothy soon caught up and said, his voice low, "You can’t even handle a few steps kneeling, but Naomi—who you got killed—jumped from the sixteenth floor. How much pain do you think she was in?"

I stopped, turning to look at him.

Moonlight fell across Timothy’s cold, handsome face, making him seem even more distant.

The ache in my knee mingled with the weight on my chest, trapping me in a net so tight I could barely breathe.

Timothy didn’t wait for me, just walked off on his own.

When I got back to the room, the doctor was changing his bandages.

As the wrappings came off, the doctor spotted tinted pink blood, face tensing. "Why has the stitched wound split open?"

I stood in the corner, watching the ruptured line, thinking of him wiping himself down yesterday.

Probably tore it while reaching his back after the surgery.

The doctor patched him up again, then sternly warned me before leaving, "You have to look after the patient. Otherwise, there will be an infection."

Timothy sat on the bed, looking pretty grim.

I figured he was thinking of Naomi—I could feel his irritability and resentment toward me now.

I went to the bathroom for warm water, undid his buttons, wiped him down—repeating the motions mechanically, like scrubbing some lifeless object.

My fingers brushed his warm skin. I tried to be gentle, but he suddenly tensed up.

Even with his frosty face, I saw his Adam’s apple bob and his thin pajama pants tent just a little.

I pretended I didn’t see, put the towel back in the basin, and turned to leave.

"Zoe Ellison."

Timothy suddenly spoke up, voice heavy with restrained pain, and something more complicated. "What right do you have to resent me?"

I paused, didn’t look back.

"If it weren’t for you killing Naomi," his voice cold as ice, "we could’ve kept going like this."

"Kept going like this?"

I finally turned around and even smiled, "Timothy, what do you mean ’like this’? You gave your love to Naomi. Your trust to Serena. I’m supposed to be some emotionless fool and just muddle through with you?"

I paused, my gaze falling somewhere on his pants. "Or do you mean now—relying on me to wipe you down while you’re thinking of another woman?"

His face turned dark in a flash, eyes glinting with sharpness as he glared at me.

But after all, he said nothing.

Turns out, he had nothing left to say either.

...

We didn’t say a single word to each other for the entire next morning.

But I didn’t shirk what I was supposed to do.

After all, I was being paid.

I cooked for him at noon, but Sophia brought another meal too.

Timothy said to his mother, "Mom, didn’t I say yesterday? You don’t need to bring me food anymore."

Sophia threw me a look, full of contempt. "I’m worried someone might poison your food and kill you! I only trust our own cooking."

She snorted, adding, "After all, she already killed Naomi. She’s got blood on her hands. What’s one more?"

I didn’t even look at her. Instead, I took out my phone, said to Timothy, "Lunch is done. Don’t forget to put another 10 million in my account today."

Whether he ate it or not—it didn’t concern me.

I’d already earned my money anyway.

Timothy’s face was ugly, but he still transferred the funds.

Sophia was absolutely speechless. "What? Ten million? Timothy, are you crazy? What did she do worth ten million?"

Timothy rubbed his pinched brow, "She’s my wife. What’s mine is hers. It’s just ten million."

"Aren’t you getting divorced?"

Sophia’s teeth were on edge. "She’s just trying to milk you one last time before the divorce! I always said this woman latched onto you for your money!"

Timothy’s tone grew impatient. "Mom, the doctor said I need peace and quiet. Why is it every time you come, you make a scene?"

Sophia could not have looked more embarrassed.

She shook with anger. "Fine! Fine! I won’t care about you anymore. Let this bitch cook for you. Wait till she poisons you—then you’ll know I was only trying to help!"

As soon as she left, the ward went dead quiet again.

I figured Timothy would eat what his mother brought, so I took my own dish and got ready to feed it to the stray dogs outside.

But Timothy’s long fingers pressed down on my lunchbox.

I frowned. "You should eat what your mom brought."

His jet-black eyes pinned me in place. "Are you going to poison me?"

I sneered, "If I poisoned you, I’d have to pay for it with my own life. Timothy, you’re not worth it."

Timothy gave a cold laugh, nodded. "Fine. I’m not worth it—Ethan is, though."

I ignored his nonsense.

He ate my meal, so I took Sophia’s food to feed the dogs.

The afternoon was rare and quiet with nothing to do.

I sat in the living room, updating my novel.

Just then, my editor messaged me on QQ. The company that bought my drama rights had started casting.

When I signed the contract, one clause was that I had the right to participate in all casting, including veto power.

So the company invited me to next week’s casting session.

I accepted the invitation, and the editor sent over the list of actresses competing.

Serena’s name was right there—testing for the main female lead from my novel.

But she wasn’t the only one. Several top stars were contesting for the part.

After all, the company behind my adaptation had deep pockets—and the director was a big name in the industry.

I even saw Serena’s nemesis, Raina Ainsworth, on the list for leading lady.

Those two had been at war since debut—flashing looks on the carpet, fighting for the center spot in photos. Their fans tore each other apart more times than I could count.

But the one thing Raina had over Serena was that, although also an idol, she actually honed her acting since day one.

She had more grit than Serena. Worked harder too.

The news that both Serena and Raina were doing test reads blew up on X, and their fandoms were already at each other’s throats.

I couldn’t help but smile. This bloodbath was going to be fun to watch!

Right then, Timothy’s voice rose behind me, "Who are you chatting with? You look really happy."

My heart jumped. I snapped my laptop shut. No way was I letting him know I wrote novels.

Otherwise, who knows how he’d use that—for Serena, probably.

I shot back, "Do you have to move so quietly?"

Timothy’s suspicious gaze stayed on my laptop. "Open it!"