But since the doctor said it was fine, I didn't overthink it. I just assumed it was an unconscious gesture from the comatose patient.
So, I painstakingly moved his hand away.
Although it was an unconscious move, it still felt like an invasion. If it weren't for the generous salary, I would've certainly given him a piece of my mind.
But the guy had some serious strength.
His hand gripped my waist tightly, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't break free. It was embarrassing, really.
"Horace, Horace, since you're a vegetable now, can't you just lie still?" I muttered through gritted teeth.
He had squeezed again.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
So, I slapped the back of his hand, putting all my force into it. His pale, delicate hand turned red immediately.
The pressure disappeared, and the hand finally pulled back.
But I never expected this little incident would lead to something much worse.
The next morning, as I was dozing at his bedside, someone grabbed me by the back of my neck and lifted me up.
Lady Wutherspoon was standing behind me with a cold, menacing expression, her sharp, freshly manicured nails digging into my arm. It hurt.
But what could I do? She was my patron after all.
"Did Horace make any movements last night?"
Lady Wutherspoon seemed anxious, frequently glancing at her son, still lying motionless on the bed. But, alas, there were no signs of him waking.
I repeated exactly what the doctor had said.
At the end of my explanation, I made sure to act professional and reassure her, "Young Master Wutherspoon has a strong will; he'll wake up soon, I'm sure."
Lady Wutherspoon's face darkened slightly, but she nodded absentmindedly. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was involved in something shady.
"Clara Monroe, I chose you personally. You must take good care of Horace. If anything happens, no matter how small, you need to report it to me immediately, understand?"
When my benefactor spoke, I had no choice but to nod vigorously.
After all, the double salary was more than enough motivation to give her my utmost attention.
Lady Wutherspoon seemed satisfied with my response. She spent ten minutes sitting beside Horace, then said she had to leave urgently.
The mansion felt cold and quiet once again.
I returned to my little stool, watching as Horace lay there, still unconscious. The red marks I had left on his face yesterday were completely gone.
No one would ever know about the mischief I had caused.
I couldn't help but smile to myself.
"Not bad at all."
"Taking care of a spoiled young master and getting this much money every month, it's quite worth it."
Perhaps it was because this person had the potential to bring me a lot of wealth, but I couldn't help feeling some strange affection for the comatose Horace.
I thought, maybe when no one was looking, I could get closer and take a better look at him.
But just as I leaned in, Horace, with his eyes still closed, suddenly swiped his hand and slapped me on the forehead.
It didn't hurt, just left me a bit dazed.
What kind of luck was this?
Why did a comatose patient keep bullying me?
The strange affection I had felt for him earlier vanished instantly.
In Horace's bedroom, his mother had installed a high-definition camera, citing concerns about his safety.
I glanced quietly at the newly installed surveillance camera.
The camera had been carefully placed at a tricky angle, and I slowly reached under the blanket...
My small hand twisted.
Horace's eyelashes trembled slightly.
I couldn't help but laugh softly.
"Tsk, just another unconscious reaction."
