True Heiress Returns to Her Unemployed Rich Family (Arabella) novel Chapter 592

Again?

Arabella slumped back, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. Was this ever going to end?

When she stayed quiet, Matthew shifted closer.

Her breath hitched, and she hurried to explain, "I just... had a dream, that's all."

"A dream?" Matthew looked genuinely surprised. That was the reason?

"Yeah," Arabella said, pressing her lips together. "A bad one. A nightmare."

That was what she'd told Edward earlier—figured it would work well enough as an excuse.

Matthew's brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with me?"

If it was just a nightmare, why was she acting so off around him—and only him? Was she... scared of him?

Gritting her teeth, Arabella mumbled, "Because in the dream, you turned into this... monster thing. And you tried to bite me."

Matthew's expression went flat. "That's it?"

"Yep." The words were out now—no taking them back.

"You've got to be kidding me," Matthew said, caught between annoyance and amusement. "So you don't actually think I'm going to turn into some creature and bite you, do you?"

Then why keep her distance?

She couldn't seriously be letting a weird dream mess with her head like this.

Arabella nodded, then shook her head, finally shooting him an irritated glance. "What if it's just... lingering weirdness from the dream? Is that not allowed?"

Suddenly, Matthew leaned in. Arabella flinched, squeezing her eyes shut.

A few seconds passed before she dared to open them again—only to find his face inches from hers, that handsome smirk firmly in place.

"You really are scared I'm gonna bite you," he said, half teasing, half baffled.

He reached out and ruffled her hair lightly before finally pulling back.

Whew. Arabella let out a soft, steadying breath. The weight of his closeness finally lifted.

"C'mere," Matthew said, his tone shifting to something softer. "Let me help you change those bandages."

After a brief hesitation, Arabella gave in.

She held out her arm, letting him carefully unwind the old gauze and redress the wound.

"Knock, knock, knock."

A sudden rap at the door made her jump.

"Who is it?" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Arabella, you haven't changed your bandages yet, right? I'll have the nurse come up," came Frank's voice from the hallway.

"Oh—Frank, no need!" Arabella replied a little too quickly, nerves tightening her chest.

"Arabella, you really should get that looked at." Ethan's voice chimed in.

Then Alfred's voice sounded. "Yeah, change the dressing first, then you can rest."

Arabella threw a quick glance at Matthew before heading to the door. She stepped out into the hall, pulling it closed behind her.

"Mr. Stewart, is that really how you'd describe yourself?" Arabella rolled her eyes.

Matthew shrugged. "Well, I'm certainly not someone who needs to be tucked away, am I?"

Arabella's lips twitched. She couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Come here," Matthew called gently.

She looked over to see he'd already laid out fresh gauze and antiseptic—he'd been busy while she was dealing with everyone outside.

Soon, he'd carefully tended to each of her visible injuries.

"Thanks," she murmured quietly once he'd finished. Then she gestured toward him. "Your turn."

Matthew complied, pulling off his shirt. Arabella's eyes instinctively darted away, and she brushed a hand over her forehead.

"Everything okay?" Matthew asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah—fine," she said, taking a quiet breath and slipping back into her professional demeanor. "He's just a patient," she reminded herself. Just treating his wounds.

Focus settled over her. Eyes sharp, movements deliberate, she cleaned and dressed each of his injuries with steady hands.

"All done," she announced after a few minutes. They were minor, so it hadn't taken long.

Matthew pulled his shirt back on just as smoothly. He met her eyes, his tone sincere. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Stewart," Arabella replied evenly. "You helped me too."

And just like that, it felt like they'd slipped back into their usual rhythm—the easy, familiar space between doctor and patient.