Ophelia Gets Thrown Out (Ophelia) novel Chapter 67

**Paths Lead To Purpose — Kevin Masters**
**Chapter 67**

“Not finding me intolerable is progress,” Alaric proclaimed, his eyes locked onto hers with a fierce intensity. “I’m confident I’ll win you over in due time.”

He relished the moment, savoring the rare occasion when she spoke to him without the usual venom. It was a small victory, one he intended to build upon.

“Keep dreaming,” she shot back, her hand reaching instinctively for the call button. “Though I doubt you’ll live long enough to witness that day.”

Alaric swiftly caught her wrist, a spark of defiance igniting within him. “What do you need the nurse for?”

“To have the doctor examine you,” she replied, pulling her hand away with a practiced ease, as if their brief contact had been an inconvenience.

“And then what?” he pressed, his curiosity piqued.

Ophelia blinked, momentarily taken aback by his persistence. “What do you mean?”

Frustration flickered across his face, the tension palpable. “Once the doctor clears me, you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

She hesitated, her cool demeanor faltering for just a moment. “Shouldn’t I? Your caregiver will be here today. There’s no reason for me to linger.”

“Do you genuinely believe I’m worried about being alone here?” Alaric’s heart tightened, the weight of her indifference pressing down on him.

He thought bitterly, ‘She’s completely heartless. All I wanted was a little more time with her. Why can’t she see that?’

“Then why are you so adamant about keeping me here?” she countered, an eyebrow arched in defiance, challenging his resolve.

He was the patient, after all; her presence had been a duty, a responsibility that had kept her by his side through the night.

Yet, under the cool scrutiny of her gaze, Alaric found himself at a loss for words. With a defeated sigh, he muttered under his breath, “Ice queen. I should’ve known better.”

Her care from the previous night had been meticulous, but he sensed it was driven more by obligation than any real concern for his well-being. She was the quintessential clinical physician, and he was just another patient on her list.

Alaric exhaled a weary sigh, the tension visibly dissipating from his frame. “Don’t bother with the doctor. I know my condition well enough, and so do you. I’ll be discharging myself shortly.”

There was no point in remaining in this sterile room if she had no intention of staying with him.

Ophelia offered no resistance, merely nodding in acknowledgment. “Get some rest, then.”

His frustration simmered just beneath the surface, a tempest barely contained.

He thought, ‘Does she truly believe I checked into a hospital for the ambiance? This infuriating woman has an uncanny talent for pushing me to the brink.’

“Whatever,” he managed through clenched teeth. “You’re the one who’s been up all night. You should go home and get some proper rest.”

“Let me check your dressing once more,” she suggested, extending a final professional courtesy.

Alaric initially stiffened at the offer, reluctant to accept even this clinical touch, but after a moment’s hesitation, he surrendered and turned to grant her access.

His entire posture radiated a theatrical offense, as though her mere presence had personally wounded him.

Shaking her head almost imperceptibly, she conducted her examination, efficiently changing the bandage before preparing to leave.

“The wound is clean,” she stated matter-of-factly, “but continue with regular dressing changes. The risk of infection appears low now, though you must avoid getting it wet and ensure you rest adequately…”

Her instructions were thorough yet devoid of warmth, each syllable reinforcing the professional chasm that lay between them.

“Ophelia,” he interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet, “Am I your patient?”

The question caught her off guard, and she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Technically, no,” she replied, her tone cautious.

This wasn’t her hospital, and he had never been formally under her care.

A humorless laugh escaped him, frustration bubbling to the surface. Her relentless adherence to technicalities was maddening.

“Then what gives you the right to manage my care?” His gaze turned icy, all previous playfulness evaporating.

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