When Tiffany opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a person sitting by the end, his face was covered in blood.
It made her shoot up in bed, but the action tugged on her injury, making her break out in a cold sweat from the pain.
"Don't move." A pair of arms wrapped around her, supporting her back. "Alex went to get your medication. You need to lie down."
Tiffany looked up. Only then did the realization dawn on her—the bloodied man was Vincent.
The memory of what had happened before she'd passed out flashed through her mind. Feeling both surprised and amused, she said, "Mr. Lewis, you…"
"I'm fine." Vincent didn't look worried about himself. He held her gingerly and asked, "How do you feel now? Does it hurt a lot?"
It did, but Tiffany felt odd saying it aloud. So, she lied and said, "No, not really."
He could tell she was lying; his heart melted. "You need to lie down and get some rest."
"No, I…" She wanted to get out of bed. This was Vincent's lounge, and she was in his bed. How could she, an ordinary employee, sully his bed?
Vincent kept trying to make her lie down, but she insisted on getting up. Because of the conflict, he lost control of his grip on her shoulder, making her hiss from the pain. She instinctively moved away from him, losing her balance and almost falling onto the bed in the process.
Vincent reflexively reached out to hold her, but remembered her injury halfway through.
So, he changed to holding the back of her head. He didn't dare to be too rough with her, so he went along with her and ended up on the bed with her.
Tiffany looked up. Their gazes met. She could hear her heart pounding—it was louder than anything she'd ever heard.
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