Arwen looked back at the butler and asked again, "Mr. Jones, did he arrive?" Her voice was laced with pure worry, and her brows were knitted tightly, reflecting her rising anxiety.
Mr. Jones's expression was solemn. He shook his head and replied in a sombre tone, "Madam, he is already on his way and should be reaching soon. Don't worry."
"How can I not?" she sighed, turning her gaze back to Aiden, who lay there, unconscious or nearly so.
If she had known he would end up being like this, she would have never let his stubbornness win.
Her eyes couldn't move away from his face, but at the same time, it felt so unbearable to watch him like this. She had never seen him this way — so weak, so vulnerable. His usual calm, composed face was flushed in an alarming shade of red, and his entire body radiated heat, burning with fever.
If she doesn't worry about seeing him like this, she would be inhumane.
