Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 126: Chapter 126

It was the first time she had ever consciously asked Simon for help.
Over the line she said, "Simon, could you come pick me up?"
From that single sentence he sensed something was wrong; Elena never asked him for anything.
"Where are you?" he asked.
After giving him the address, she crouched on the ground, hugging her knees.
Roughly twenty minutes later Simon arrived.
The moment he stepped inside he saw her squatting there, hair and clothing drenched, a small puddle spreading around her feet.
He hurried over in long strides. "Why are you soaked from head to toe?"
"I—I slipped and fell into the water," Elena answered, her lips trembling so hard she could barely speak.
Simon's chest tightened painfully; he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the car.
All the way back Elena shivered uncontrollably, and Simon pressed harder and harder on the gas.
Before long the Rolls-Royce slid into the apartment parking garage.
Her body was rigid, unable to move. Simon's heart ached as he lifted her and strode upstairs.
He set her on a chair, dashed to run a hot bath, then handed her a steaming cup. "Drink some hot water."
Fetching a blow-dryer, he warmed her hair and neck; only when the tub was full did he carry her into the bathroom.
"Shower first—I'll make you some ginger tea," he said, closing the door behind her.
Her lips were too numb to form words; she simply watched him bustle about, a sting rising at the tip of her nose.
Simon pulled the door shut and busied himself in the kitchen.
When Elena emerged from the bath, warmth had finally returned to her limbs.
Simon was in the kitchen pouring ginger tea into a cup.
She sat on the sofa, eyes following his every movement.
Holding the cup to her lips, he urged, "Drink it while it's hot, so you don't catch a cold."
Heat flooded her eyes and she fought the urge to cry.
Turning her face away, she muttered, "I can manage on my own."
Simon simply watched while she sipped the ginger tea.
Feeling awkward, she said, "You seem awfully familiar with this place."
He paused, then explained naturally, "It belongs to a friend—I used to drop by a lot."
"Oh," she answered.
Simon asked again, "What were you doing there? How could you fall in by yourself?"
Elena hesitated.
He didn't believe she had simply slipped; she must have gone there to do something for him.
Yet she was well aware he treated her kindly only because she had once saved his life.
She didn't want him doing anything else for her.
She was afraid—afraid she would start to care for him, knowing someone else already occupied his heart.
Since that was the case, she couldn't let herself fall from the very beginning.
"I was out for dinner, got distracted walking by the edge, and fell in," she lied.
Simon fixed his eyes on hers, as though trying to see straight through her.
Her lie was full of holes, yet he chose not to expose it.
In the end, Elena still came down sick.
Less than two hours after the ginger tea she spiked a fever, drifting in and out on the bed, alternately chilled and burning up.
Half-conscious, she sensed someone changing her clothes, wiping her body over and over...
No matter how hard she fought, consciousness refused to surface.
When she finally came to again, dawn had already given way to full morning.
Sunlight spilled through the window, coating the room in a soft, dreamlike halo.
As Elena opened her eyes, she saw Simon Whitmore fast asleep, his head resting on the edge of her mattress.
Bathed in light, his profile looked as though some master painter had sketched it into existence.
Elena's heart gave a sudden, resounding thump.
Unable to resist, she tiptoed over to fetch a sketchpad and pencil, desperate to capture the moment before it slipped away.