The doctor would arrive every morning to check on Lord Horace's condition.
Other than that, the mansion was eerily quiet most of the time.
The other seventeen nurses each had their own tasks, but once the night fell and everyone else returned to their rooms to rest, my job as a mascot continued.
What could I say? When you're too good at something, you get saddled with extra responsibility.
Lady Wutherspoon's pay was double that of the other nurses, but in exchange, I had to be by Lord Horace's side 24/7. As a result, I barely drank any water during the day, fearing I might not live up to the salary.
Daytime was bearable.
Sometimes, when people came and went, I could chat a little.
But when night came,
The whole mansion became silent, and while the other nurses had their rooms on the first floor, I had to stay by Lord Horace's bedside through the night.
Lady Wutherspoon had insisted that using a phone would emit radiation and harm her precious son.
So, I could only sigh in frustration, staring up at the empty ceiling before glancing down at the comatose "sleeping beauty" lying in the bed.
But—
After an entire week of watching the clock, I was certain no one would come at night. The little thoughts I had before began to stir again.
Looking at Lord Horace, unconscious on the bed, I glanced at the tightly shut door.
I felt a little conflicted.
But before I could second-guess myself, I swiftly reached out and pinched his face.
The face of a Kingston young master was not something just anyone could touch.
Tsk, the sensation was really quite nice.
So, I pinched him again.
With a bit more force this time, not as gentle. A light red mark immediately appeared on his face, and I quickly pulled my hand back, praying I wouldn't get caught tomorrow.
Just as I withdrew my hand, I saw Lord Horace lift his hand.
"Holy hell, Horace just moved!"
His action sent me into a panic, and my legs almost gave way.
Recalling the doctor's warning, I jumped back and immediately pressed the bell.
Then, I saw Lord Horace, still with his eyes closed, slowly lower the hand he had raised and begin scratching the back of his neck…
He was… scratching?
Do vegetative patients scratch?
Or—had he begun to wake up under my careful watch?
I nervously stared at the red mark on his face, hoping he would stay unconscious a little longer, at least until I could hide my misdeed.
The doctor lived in a building behind the mansion, and it would take him ten minutes to get here. As soon as I rang the bell, he immediately called me on a video call to inquire about the patient's status.
I shakily pointed at Lord Horace, who was still scratching his neck with his eyes closed.
His hand had slowly moved from the back of his neck to his face.
"He… he…" My voice was trembling uncontrollably.
The doctor's face turned pale, likely from the shock. I could hear his heavy breathing as he jogged over, even through the phone.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He… he just moved," I managed to stammer out.
The doctor, who had been extremely tense just moments ago, froze for a moment, then let out a helpless laugh.
"Is that all?"
"Isn't it enough?" I retorted.
A vegetative patient moved.
Isn't this a terrifying thing?
The doctor spoke with a somewhat helpless tone: "Don't you know? A comatose patient can still make unconscious movements."
So, is that his excuse for being a troublemaker?
I lowered my gaze to the hand resting on my waist.
Just moments ago, as I was making the phone call, his hand, which had been scratching his neck, suddenly moved, and it grasped my waist.
Hmm, he even gave it a little squeeze.
It was almost like he was getting back at me for pinching his face earlier.
