Bernard let out a dry laugh.
“So you’re hanging out with someone but in our café? Are you trying to avoid paying your bill? Whoah, Gretchen, you’re really something!”
Gretchen heard his sarcasm from behind her, but she kept walking. She couldn't deny though that her chest ached with sadness.
‘We’ve known each other for years. Sure, the Marxhausens aren't in the same league as the Golbersteins, but we’re doing just fine.’
‘And yet, Bernard thought she wanted to marry him just for his money.’
‘How ridiculous!’
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the slick spot on the floor. Her foot slipped, and she landed hard on the ground.
Some sticky, wet substance clung to her skirt and legs. Dazed from the fall and still recovering from her injuries, she couldn’t get up right away.
She must’ve looked pitiful slumping there because Bernard’s voice came again, cold and mocking.
“What’s this? Trying to play the damsel in distress now?”
His tone was lazy, almost amused.
“If you ask me, if you wanna get a man’s attention, that trick works better for someone like Marjorie. She’s delicate enough to pull it off. You? You’re too tall and tough—it just doesn’t work.”
Just then, a concerned voice called out. “Gretchen? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
Looking up, she saw Reinhold rushing out of the café to supposedly greet her, his face full of worry.
Beside him was a tall, broad-shouldered younger man.
The man didn’t say anything. Seeing her slumped on the floor, he just stepped forward and helped Gretchen up gently.
He smelled faintly of clean laundry, a light, calming scent that reached her nose. The warmth of his hand seeped through her clothes, steadying her.
That made Gretchen’s face flush.
“It takes a hundred days to heal a broken bone. And I heard that you were in a car accident, so you should stay in bed and recover. What if this fall makes your injury worse?”
His voice was deep and magnetic.
Gretchen looked up and realized that the young man looked just like Bernard—sharp brows, blue eyes, striking features—but he carried himself with more maturity and warmth.
“Can you still walk?” he asked.
Gritting her teeth, Gretchen tried to take a step forward, but pain shot through her leg. She stumbled and fell right into his warm arms.
The next thing she knew, he scooped her up effortlessly.
“Don’t push yourself,” he said quietly.
At that moment, everyone’s attention was on Gretchen. No one noticed Bernard standing in the background, his face stormy, fists clenched tight.
Inside, Terrence set Gretchen down on a couch and knelt to check her injuries.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
When his fingers brushed her skin, she flinched.
“Stay still,” he said firmly, and then he gestured to someone nearby. “Do you have a first aid kit? Bring it here please.”
The receptionist hurried off and returned with a disinfectant, cotton swabs, and bandages.
Terrence disinfected Gretchen’s wound quietly, his focus steady while Gretchen obediently stayed still.
Her mind drifted to the car accident. That day, her leg had been pinned tight by the car door. Desperation to save Bernard had pushed her to grit her teeth and yank her leg free. But the pain had been excruciating.
Compared to that, her new wound was nothing.
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” she said, trying to ease Terrence’s serious expression. She didn’t want to trouble him any more than she already had.
“Even small wounds can get infected. Haven’t you heard of people dying from tetanus because they didn't get diagnosed and treated in time?” he said, his tone calm but firm. “So just stay still. I’ll take care of it quickly.”
Gretchen’s gaze drifted across the room, and her eyes met and locked with Bernard’s.
His stare was cold, filled with disdain and mockery.
