Shirley Thorne immediately shrieked, "What are you doing, Mr. Tycoon? There's no one else here, you don't have to make such a sacrifice!"
Ethan Grant snapped, "Shut up!"
Shirley Thorne immediately clammed up.
Inside the villa, the family doctor, who had already signed a non-disclosure agreement, was waiting for them.
The doctor was a good-natured, middle-aged man with a beer belly. He smiled and said, "Mrs. Grant, please show me the wound so I can apply the medication."
Shirley Thorne obediently took off her shoe and lifted the hem of her dress, revealing a slender ankle. A red, swollen lump had formed on her porcelain-white skin. It looked painful even just sitting under the light.
The doctor prepared the ointment and said reassuringly, "Don't worry, this won't hurt."
As he spoke, he reached for Shirley Thorne's ankle.
"Wait!"
Ethan Grant's displeased voice came from behind them. As they both looked at him in confusion, he said, "I'll do it."
"Huh?" Shirley Thorne was completely baffled. She had no idea what Ethan Grant was playing at.
The doctor, however, seemed relieved. He chuckled, "You're right. Mr. Grant has a better touch than I do."
With that, he tossed the medical supplies to Ethan Grant and beat a hasty retreat.
'Treating the tycoon's wife is a hell of a job,' he thought, 'especially when she has such a possessive husband.'
Only the two of them remained in the living room.
Shirley Thorne felt exceptionally awkward. She had never been in such close contact with a man in a private space before—doctors didn't count.
"We're a loving couple now, understand?" Ethan Grant said, kneeling on the carpet in front of the sofa. His movements were surprisingly deft.
"Oh, right. I get it. A loving couple." She nodded. "If the wife sprains her ankle and the husband just stands by watching instead of helping, that would definitely be weird."
Her perfect logic eased her bout of awkwardness.
From Shirley's angle, Ethan Grant's brow was perfectly defined. He had long eyelashes, and the tip of his nose was just the right shape. There wasn't a trace of fat on his face—it was all sharp, chiseled features.
His touch was gentle as he applied the ointment, his focus absolute. The cotton swab brushed along the edge of the injury, sending a ticklish flutter through her.
Shirley Thorne felt the air around them grow hot.
'Like this,' she thought, 'we really do seem like a loving couple. The wife gets hurt, the husband tends to her wound... It's perfectly harmonious.'
"Next time, remember to dodge," Ethan Grant said suddenly.
"Huh?"
Caught in the middle of admiring his handsome face, Shirley Thorne felt a pang of guilt. "Dodge what? What do you mean, 'next time'?"
Ethan Grant sighed, putting down the cotton swab. He looked up at her and said with a hint of resignation, "The slap. Don't just stand there frozen next time. It's foolish."
'I suspect you're looking down on me,' Shirley Thorne thought, 'and I have proof.'
Shirley argued stubbornly, "But doesn't our contract have a clause about respecting our elders?"
'No matter how awful she is, she's still my mother.'
"She doesn't count," Ethan Grant said, his cool eyes devoid of any warmth. He finished packing the first-aid kit and added, "Be careful with your foot for the next few days."
"Thank you, Mr. Grant." Shirley Thorne flexed her ankle. It already felt much better after the treatment.
Shirley Thorne didn't ask why Susan Langley didn't count as an elder. Perceptive as she was, she could already tell that Ethan didn't want to talk about her.
Once the medicine was applied, Ethan Grant began to pack up the first-aid kit. He took a call midway through, and from the look on his face, it clearly wasn't good news. He left in a hurry.
Shirley Thorne was left alone in the villa. With her injured foot, she couldn't do much else, so she decided to go to bed early.
But just as she lay down, her phone rang. She picked it up and saw the name on the screen: Jason Thorne.
If she remembered correctly, that was this body's father.
After a moment's thought, Shirley Thorne answered the call. "Hello?"
"Gideon told me you blocked him." On the other end of the line, Jason Thorne got straight to the point, showing not a shred of concern for his daughter—even though today was the day she had officially gotten married.
Shirley Thorne remained silent. 'So the little tattletale went crying to his daddy?' she thought.
Jason Thorne took her silence as a sign of guilt. "I'm warning you, you'd better bring money home tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll go to the media and tell them the great tycoon's new wife is a gold digger who refuses to support her own parents. And I'll release those photos of you from when you were sixteen, when you were tricked into working as a bar hostess!"
'Well now,' she thought. 'Threatening me, are we?'
Shirley Thorne had been feeling sleepy, but those words snapped her wide awake.
'How dare he threaten me with photos from when I was tricked into that hostess job?'
'Fine. Let's air all our dirty laundry and see who ends up stinking more.'
"Daddy," Shirley cooed, feigning obedience, "wait for me to come home tomorrow. You have to, have to wait for me, okay?" A mocking glint flashed in her eyes.
On the other end, Jason Thorne hung up, satisfied. He turned to his pouting son and comforted him, "Don't worry. I've got plenty of dirt on that good-for-nothing girl. She won't dare to disobey."
Gideon Thorne's face was full of admiration. "You always have a plan, Dad!"
Meanwhile, back at the villa, Shirley Thorne pulled up some data on her computer. She compiled it into a document, printed it out, and a malicious grin spread across her face.
With this in hand, she wouldn't have to fear her scumbag father's threats, even if the truth about the hostess job came out.