Chapter 105 What Outcome Is She Even Hoping For

• Casper didn’t think it was a big deal, but he still explained. He didn’t want a rift with Rhea over something so small. But when Rhea heard his answer, she stiffened. What Casper said confirmed what Mr. Wills had told her. Casper really had sent people to smash the fish stall just to stick up for her. She lowered her head and said softly, “Casper, Mrs. Wills isn’t well. Did you know that? Back then, that incident almost put her in danger.” “It was just an accident,” Casper said, cool as ever. “But… we call it ‘just an accident,’ and Mrs. Wills nearly died.” Rhea murmured, almost like she was talking to herself. Casper frowned, cold eyes puzzled. Rhea hadn’t even minded his bloodied hands—why would she get hung up on a small ‘accident’? Casper had always been obsessive, ruthless, willing to do anything. He was brutal, and when he wanted something, he never cared about the process. Back when he felt nothing for Rhea, he’d faked gentleness, engineered a car crash, and pulled every dirty trick just to make her stay. His life had been full of malice, so he met the world with malice in return. To him, that was only fair. He didn’t care about anyone else. But Rhea did. Back then, when Mrs. Wills almost had that accident, it was Casper who sent them to meet the ambulance, and Rhea had felt grateful to him. Now she realized the culprit behind it all was Casper himself. His expression stayed too calm as she looked at him. Rhea didn’t even know what to say for a moment. He’d done it to vent her anger, and he’d said he hadn’t meant to actually hurt anyone. Casper, proud as he was, had lowered himself to explain. What outcome was she even hoping for now? Still, Rhea felt this ache in her chest. Before Casper could say more, Rhea spoke softly, “I understand.” She didn’t ask anything else and, drained, went to wash up. They’d come back from the suburbs that afternoon; it was already eight at night. Rhea had always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of person. After getting hurt, she went to sleep even earlier. Casper thought it was over and stepped up to help her wash. At the hospital in the suburbs, he’d been the one caring for Rhea the whole time. Even if she felt embarrassed, she hadn’t refused him. Now, when Casper reached out like he always did, Rhea stepped back and slipped out of his grasp. Polite but distant, she said, “I can handle it. From now on, I’ll do it myself.” Casper frowned. “Your hand isn’t healed yet.” “My right arm was just dislocated. I can move it now. My left finger bone won’t heal overnight—takes time. I can’t let you keep looking after me forever.” Casper was about to say he could take care of her. Rhea had been hurt because of him; forget a hundred days—he’d do it for a year, ten years, whatever it took. But Rhea finished and walked into the bathroom on her own. Casper’s brows locked tight. Rhea had always welcomed him, but now he felt her withdrawing, pushing him away, and he had no idea what to do. His feelings came hard and deep: when he didn’t care, you could drop dead in front of him and he wouldn’t spare a look; once he cared, he gave himself completely. Faced with that kind of love, Rhea had always accepted him. But now, she seemed to be retreating. She hadn’t flinched from blood and darkness, yet over two random vendors… why this? Casper couldn’t figure it out. Not long after, Rhea came out of the bathroom. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk to Casper. He hesitated, then headed into the bathroom himself, remembering what Lucas Fray had once said—couples fight at the head of the bed and make up at the foot. Sleep on it, and it’ll blow over. As soon as Casper stepped into the bathroom, Rhea’s phone rang. He’d had her phone this whole time; they’d just gotten home today, and he’d given it back. She answered, and the voice on the other end was Mr. Silkgrove’s butler, urgent and strained. “Miss Rhea, finally reached you. Mr. Silkgrove is in trouble. Could you please come over? I’m begging you—please come.” Rhea’s heart kicked. “What happened?” “Ah! Mr. Silkgrove!” the butler suddenly shouted, and the call dropped. Rhea’s face changed. She didn’t even bother changing out of her pajamas—she grabbed a coat, threw it on, and bolted downstairs. Too much had happened today; there was no one around downstairs. Even Sean Wilson had been dragged off by his two brothers to be lectured. Rhea rushed out, and no one saw her. Ash Silkgrove’s place was near the Frost Mansion. Rhea didn’t need a car—she ran straight there. Bang, bang, bang! Rhea pounded the door, breath coming hard. After a long moment, a maid opened up. Seeing Rhea, she lit up. “Miss Rhea, you’re finally here. Please, come in.” Rhea followed her inside. There were a lot of people crowding outside Ash’s door. The door was shut tight, and the butler stood pale, pleading through the wood, “Sir, please open the door. Whatever happens, you have to take your meds!” Rhea walked over. The butler hadn’t expected her to arrive so fast. When he saw her, he looked like he might drop to his knees out of sheer relief. “Miss Rhea, thank goodness you’re here.” He knocked again, softer this time. “Sir, please open up. Miss Rhea is here to see you.” From the quiet room came a thud—like a chair tipping over. A second later, the door swung open. Ash Silkgrove, ghost-pale, rushed out—he’d never come out of his room before, but this time he even ran a few steps past the doorway. Like a flash of blinding white, he landed in everyone’s eyes. His light-colored gaze flickered and locked onto Rhea, clinging to her and not letting go. Rhea noticed the maids watching Ash. She caught someone showing a flicker of disgust they hadn’t meant to reveal. Her face tightened. She stepped up, putting herself between Ash and the others, and said to the butler, “Which meds are his? Give them to me.” Ash didn’t spiral into a paranoid fit. He just tugged lightly at the hem of Rhea’s coat. Sunlight, the people outside—everything felt like monsters to him. But Miss Rhea in front of him was like a superhero who could slay monsters, and that kept his shame and panic at bay. The butler snapped to and hurried over. “They’re… these.” Rhea took Ash’s meds and guided him back into the room. Ash hung his head and stayed silent. Rhea studied him. He was chalk-white, those pale eyes shot with blood, white hair almost covering his brows. The whole vibe was wrecked, like a fallen angel. She asked sharply, “Why aren’t you taking your meds? You know your body better than anyone. You know what happens if you skip them—don’t you?” Ash ducked his head lower. Rhea lifted the hair hiding his eyes and made him look up. Their gazes met, and in a hoarse, boyish voice, Ash whispered, “Miss Rhea… do you hate me too? Do you not want to help me anymore?”