Outside in the hallway, the maid's words lingered only for a moment.
Carlson did not react immediately. His expression remained unchanged, but there was a quiet shift in his gaze, something that suggested the thought had already formed before she even spoke.
"I suspected it," he said to himself, almost under his breath.
He turned toward his study and walked in without hurry. The room was just as he had left it earlier, everything in its place. He moved toward the desk, opened the drawer with a familiar motion, and took out a small tube placed neatly inside.
A few hours ago, when he had seen Eline in the hallway, the redness on his face had not gone unnoticed. It had been too pronounced, too uneven to be anything ordinary. Carlson hadn't known the exact nature of it, but he had recognized enough to anticipate the possibility.
Pale skin like that did not tolerate the sun well.
Even then, he had not asked.
Instead, he had given a simple instruction to one of the butlers—to bring an ointment suitable for skin irritation caused by sun exposure. It had arrived not long after.
Now, holding it in his hand, the assumption felt confirmed.
There was a faint sense of satisfaction in being right. Not pride, exactly. Just certainty settling into place.
He closed the drawer and stepped out of the room, already heading toward Eline's.
Inside, Eline was still seated near the table, the cold water in front of him. The initial sting had dulled, replaced by a lingering sensitivity that refused to settle completely.
When the knock came, it startled him.
His head lifted immediately, a slight tension running through him.
Who would come at this hour?
It was too early for dinner.
For a moment, his mind ran through possibilities. It couldn't be-
No.
Carlson wouldn't come now.
Lucien… perhaps. He had come at odd hours before. But even that didn't feel likely tonight. There was no reason for either of them to be here.
Maybe it was a maid. Some message. Something small.
Still unsure, he stood and walked toward the door.
When he opened it—
He froze.
For a second, his mind didn't process it.
Then it did.
Carlson stood there.
Eline's expression shifted before he could control it, his lips parting slightly in a silent, stunned reaction. Out of everyone, he was the last person he had expected to see standing there.
Carlson's gaze moved over his face once, calm and assessing.
"Just as I expected," he said.
Then, without pause, "May I come in?"
Eline blinked, still caught off guard. For a brief second, no response came.
Then he stepped aside quickly. "Yes… come in."
The words came out a little too fast.
As Carlson entered, Eline became suddenly, painfully aware of himself. Of how he must look. Of the heat still lingering on his skin.
I look ridiculous.
The thought came sharp and immediate.
Like a boiled potato.
He resisted the urge to touch his face again.
Carlson, however, did not comment on it.
"Sit," he said simply.
Eline obeyed without thinking, moving back toward the bed and sitting down, his posture slightly stiff.
Carlson stepped closer, then placed the ointment on the table.
"Do not move," he added. "I'll be back."
Before Eline could respond, he had already turned and walked toward the bathroom.
Eline sat there, confused, his eyes shifting briefly toward the small tube on the table.
Ointment.
For a moment, the implication didn't fully register.
By the time Carlson returned, his hands were clean, his movements precise as ever. His gaze briefly fell on the bowl of ice water still on the table.
"Telling me would have been the better choice than this," he said, his tone even, though there was a slight edge of disapproval in it.
Eline looked down, avoiding his gaze.
Why would I tell you?
The thought was immediate, almost defensive. But he didn't say it.
Before he could think further, Carlson stepped closer.
With a light motion, he lifted Eline's chin with a single finger.
"Look up."
Eline's breath hitched slightly at the unexpected contact. His gaze lifted almost automatically.
Carlson took a small amount of the ointment onto his fingers and began applying it.
His touch was careful. Measured. The pressure light enough not to aggravate the already sensitive skin.
Eline tensed at first, his body reacting instinctively to the proximity. But the coolness of the ointment, combined with the gentleness of the movement, slowly eased the discomfort.
He found himself going still.
And then, without realizing it, he was looking at Carlson.
Not just glancing.
Staring.
There was a certain focus in Carlson's expression, a quiet seriousness as he worked, his attention fixed entirely on what he was doing. It wasn't hurried, nor hesitant. Just precise.
Eline's gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Carlson noticed.
He had already finished applying the ointment, but his fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as if confirming something.
Then he withdrew his hand.
"It's done," he said.
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"Next time something like this happens, you will come to me first," he said. "We might be able to solve it properly instead of making it worse with methods like this."
Eline shifted slightly. "I didn't know there was ointment here," he said. "I would have asked if I knew."
Even as he said it, the thought contradicted itself.
Of course there would be something like that in a place like this.
He just hadn't wanted to be seen like that.
Carlson responded without hesitation. "There wasn't," he said. "I had it brought. I thought you might need it."
Eline stilled.
For a moment, he didn't say anything.
You ordered it… for me?
The thought remained unspoken, but it lingered heavily in his mind.
Carlson seemed to sense the shift in silence.
Without adding anything further, he straightened and stepped back.
Then he turned and left the room.