Laila succumbed to a severe illness, languishing in bed. Her fever tormented her, inducing nightmares and incoherent ramblings. Paradoxically, the knowledge of being in a safe haven seemed to unleash the suppressed anxiety and melancholy, exacerbating her affliction.

For three consecutive days, Cain's personal physician was summoned to the mansion. Handmaids under Cain's command diligently attended to Laila, making frequent visits to inquire about her health.

"Laila."

Amidst most of her days spent in an altered state of mind, Laila distinctly heard the voice of a man calling her name. Occasionally, when she regained consciousness, Cain would gaze upon her with an expression of concern. At such moments, an inexplicable tinge of blue would ripple through her chest—a palpitation not born out of rational infatuation, but rather an unfamiliar sense of worry and empathy.

Laila, Laila, Laila. She had never realized how pleasing her own name could sound.

Although Laila gradually recovered, her decision to rise from her bed was prompted by a different motive.

"Why are you still lying down when you seem to be better?"

"It's just an act. Why would the master bother taking care of a woman like me?"

"She's beautiful. Shameless, nonetheless."

Upon hearing the maids' whispering, Laila felt not annoyance, but rather a sense of embarrassment.

She could have mustered the strength to rise, even if it required a great effort. Yet, she chose not to. She was exhausted and plagued by illness, frightened by the lack of a place to go and devoid of funds. Despite knowing it was disgraceful, she yearned to indulge further in the comfort she had never experienced before.

But it was not to be.

One thing Laila had realized during her time in the Blast Street was that she must rely on her own strength to survive, without depending on others. She momentarily forgot that truth.

Laila rose wearily, lifting herself up to open the closet door. Two impeccable sets of everyday clothes hung neatly inside. Her previously worn garments were said to have been incinerated that day. With no other choice, she picked one out and as she put it on, a knock echoed.

"Yes."

She replied softly, catching her breath, but the door opened as if it had heard from the outside. Cain entered and furrowed his brow at the sight of her standing there unsteadily. In his hand, he held a large bouquet of flowers.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"What is it?"

"Now, I'm trying to get better. Thank you for your help."

Struggling to stay upright, Laila clenched her teeth and lowered her head. She had been too scattered to express her gratitude until now.

Cain chuckled, observing Laila's pale, weary face.

"You don't seem to be any better at all."

"I truly am better. And that's why I wanted to talk to you."

Laila spoke, keeping her unyielding mouth shut and looking at Cain. It was embarrassing, but she had no room to preserve her dignity. It was obvious what would happen if she left this house without a plan. Regardless of the outcome, she had to grasp at straws.

Cain gazed steadily at Laila's determined expression. With a sigh, he extended the bouquet he had been holding.

"Let's sit down and talk. I have something to say as well."

***

"The fragrance is delightful. I express my gratitude," said Lila, burying her face in the bouquet of flowers. At first, she wondered why he was carrying a bouquet, but it turned out to be a floral tribute for the sick, so he presented it to her. The sweet scent eased her despondency, uplifting her spirits.

Suddenly, she remembered the maidservants whispering. The person who discovered her unconscious and naked in the bathtub, and moved her to the room was named Cain.

In an instant, her face flushed. She was grateful, but she couldn't possibly express her gratitude for that incident.

"I am relieved that you like it. So, what do you want to say?" asked Cain, sitting in a single chair and observing Lila seated on the couch. He had an air of politeness and kindness, yet there was an aura that made it difficult to approach him easily. Therefore, although her mouth was reluctant to speak, Lila summoned her courage.

"By any chance, are you looking for a maid?"

"A maid? Are you asking for a job?"

"For the time being, I am willing to work without pay, as a token of gratitude for your assistance. Taking into account the enjoyable moments I missed because of me..."

"Enjoyable moments?"

"This part baffled Cain, as if he couldn't grasp the meaning," Laila realized her mistake. She had crossed a line due to her inherent anxiety and lingering embarrassment, disregarding the boundaries. She shouldn't have uttered those words about having a delightful time. She had assumed that the reason Cain had initially come to Blast Street was the same as other men.

"Ha!"

Now, as if he had finally deciphered her true intention, Cain chuckled incredulously. It was an expression of amusement rather than displeasure.

"If you were asking whether I went to find a woman, you misjudged," he said.

"..."

"There was no need for that, nor did I want to."

The man's tone revealed a hint of disdain. It was a look of distaste not only for the women of Blast Street but also for anything associated with the area. Well, when you think about it, it is rather peculiar for a man who lacks nothing to come all the way here to buy a woman.

"Then why?"

"I went because I was looking for someone."

"Someone to find?"

"Yes, to find a wife."

"..."

"Or more precisely, someone who could become my wife."

Cain smirked, finding Laila's bewildered expression amusing.