Filed to story: When His Wife Can’t Forgive
A wave of fear washed over Gemma, urging her to escape. But her survival instinct made her reach out and grasp his pant leg tightly. She silently pleaded for help.
Gemma was exceptionally slender. Her frame was as delicate as a withered leaf-isolated and vulnerable. Her fingers, usually pale and weak, clung to the coarse fabric of Pierre’s pants with unexpected strength.
Unable to call for help, Gemma’s labored breaths cut through Pierre’s stoic exterior. His icy indifference melted slightly, revealing a trace of emotion on his face.
Pierre crouched down to observe her.
Gemma’s head dangled over the edge of the bed, her hair veiling her face, quivering on her shoulders. Tears dripped from her nose, staining the gray carpet below.
Pierre’s pupils contracted as a familiar scene flashed before his eyes. Instinctively, he cradled her face with a gentle touch. Her features were turning purple from suffocation. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips moved without sound.
Pierre noticed the obstruction in her mouth, the source of her distress. With a clear mind, he swiftly cleared her airway with his fingers.
Gemma’s breathing eased, and she burst into tears.
Pierre stood frozen for a moment, watching her sob. He wiped his hands and fetched an oxygen tube.
Even with the oxygen, Gemma continued to weep, like a child awakened from a nightmare. Her eyes conveyed lingering fear and sorrow.
Pierre, unskilled in offering comfort, spoke firmly. “Just wait a bit. Your brother will be back soon.”
Before Gemma’s tears could subside, Corey entered the room. Alarmed by her crying, he rushed over and quickly pulled Pierre aside, asking, “What happened?”
Gemma’s sobs grew louder when she saw Corey.
Corey administered the necessary medication.
Before it took effect, Gemma sought refuge in Corey’s arms. He gently stroked her hair, his voice unusually soft. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Corey lifted Gemma and glanced at Pierre, who stood aside, his gaze averted.
Yet, Pierre felt the daunting presence of Corey.
True to form, Corey delivered a swift kick to Pierre’s knee.
Pierre staggered and knelt, enduring the sharp pain in silence. Gemma, though dizzy and nauseous, intervened. “Corey, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
Corey’s expression was icy. “Not doing it well is the same as doing it wrong. I was away only briefly, and you ended up crying. What good is he?”
Gemma shook her head. “No, he handled it well.” She recalled how Pierre had swiftly cleared her airway, and she didn’t want him unjustly reprimanded. “Corey, you can’t lose your temper without knowing what happened.”
Corey cupped Gemma’s ears, his voice chilling as he dismissed Pierre. “You are useless. Get out.”
Pierre struggled to his feet. Without complaint, he turned and departed.
Gemma frowned, waiting for the medication to take effect. Once she felt stronger, she quietly released Corey’s neck and walked to the bathroom to refresh herself.
Corey sensed her upset mood and sighed. “Are you upset? Over a bodyguard?”
Gemma turned away. “Corey, you’re always so quick to violence, never considering how it affects others. I’ve discussed this with you time and again, but you never listen. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Corey fell silent.
Gemma continued to make her way to the bathroom, her steps shaky, nearly losing her balance.
Corey stepped forward to assist, but Gemma declined. “Corey, do you think your temper rubs off on others?”
She withdrew her hand. “If it does, I don’t want to become like you, constantly angry.”
Realizing she was serious, Corey conceded. “Alright. I’m at fault.” He acknowledged his mistake. This wasn’t the first time his temper had caused issues, and Gemma had expressed her discontent before. He just found it hard to change.
Gemma, empathetic to his constant travel, suggested, “Go rest. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”
As Corey exited the room, he noticed Pierre still stationed at the door.
Corey cast a cold look at Pierre and tossed him a bottle of ointment for bruises. “Gemma sent this.” Pierre caught it, replying calmly, “Thank you.”
Corey, reminded of Pierre’s credentials, recalled a conversation.
“When Alicia recommended you, she mentioned you once practiced medicine.”
Pierre confirmed, “Yes, Mr. Hampton.”
Corey gave a noncommittal nod. “Stay at the door. Inform me immediately if anything happens to Gemma.”
“Understood,” Pierre responded.
After Corey left, Pierre looked at the expensive ointment in his hand. Without a second thought, he threw it into the trash bin at the end of the hallway.
After her return to Xada, Gemma found herself under house arrest once again. Her recent illness had alarmed not only Corey but also herself, prompting her to adhere strictly to the doctor’s orders. Within a few days, she regained her strength and vitality. Corey, unable to postpone his duties at the company any longer, shared a quick meal with Gemma before departing.
Gemma stood at the doorway, hesitating to go back inside, watching his car fade into the distance.
Looking up, Gemma noticed Pierre and recalled the incident in Warrington. Instinctively, she asked, “Does your knee still hurt?”
Pierre, having put the incident behind him, answered with deference, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
His response came off more dismissive than respectful. He kept his head down, his expression unreadable-whether indifferent or serious, it was hard to tell.
Pierre stood out among the bodyguards. Ever since his arrival, Gemma had taken note of him. He was tall, with a deep complexion and striking features, noticeably more handsome than the others. His actions that night had not only been bold but lifesaving, leaving a lasting impression on her.
“You don’t talk much,” Gemma commented, perhaps seeking distraction after her brother’s departure. “Do you dislike the job, or is it me?”
Pierre tensed slightly. He looked up and replied, “No, I value this job.”
“If you value it so much, why did you hesitate that day?” Gemma’s eyes were clear, reflecting pure curiosity. “You seemed to pause by the bed for quite some time before you decided to help me.”
Pierre furrowed his brow. “I lacked experience.”
“You’re a doctor, and you don’t know first aid?”
“I was inexperienced with your specific condition and hesitant to intervene improperly.”
Gemma was at a loss for words. She didn’t intend to blame Pierre. She merely sought understanding. “If guarding me displeases you, you can tell my brother. He won’t force you.”
Pierre simply said, “No.”
Their conversation was brief.
Sheila Gomez, the housekeeper, came over. “Miss Hampton, it’s time for fruits.”
Sheila cast a curious glance at Pierre, who nodded and stepped away, though he remained nearby.
Gemma noticed his peculiar walk and watched him for a moment longer.
Sheila gently pulled Gemma’s arm and whispered, “Miss Hampton, you should keep a respectful distance from the bodyguards.”
Gemma understood this was Corey’s directive, yet she felt slightly displeased. “I was merely asking a few questions.”
“If you need anything, just give orders. Mr. Hampton insists that you maintain distance from everyone but him to prevent any ill intentions.”
Gemma couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sheila, I’m an adult, capable of making my own decisions. Besides, Pierre is my personal bodyguard. How can we not communicate at all?”
While Sheila conceded that Gemma’s point was logical, she still urged caution. She handed Gemma a piece of fruit with a warm smile.
Gemma glanced at Pierre, who stood rigidly. She harbored some doubts. That night at the hotel in Warrington, she faintly recalled Pierre’s seeming indifference to her crisis. Was it merely a misperception?
However, since Alicia had personally recommended Pierre, Gemma chose not to linger on these thoughts.
In the ensuing days, Corey’s demanding schedule kept him away. Concerned that Gemma might grow bored, he had several truckloads of rare flowers delivered and planted in their garden.
Gemma adored the Juliet champagne roses most of all. She visited the garden several times a day, delighting in watering and caring for them herself.
Naturally, each time Gemma soiled her clothes when tending to the flowers, Sheila expressed her concern.
Exhausted by the frequent reminders, Gemma enlisted Pierre’s help in the garden.
Pierre, unaccustomed to such delicate tasks, fumbled with the flowers. The more careful he tried to be, the more mistakes he made, leaving the soil disrupted and the petals marred. Gemma, distressed, crouched to clean the dirt from the damaged petals. The rain-soaked soil stained her dress and hands, yet she remained undeterred.
Pierre frowned and held the hem of her dress. “Miss Hampton, your dress is soiled.”
Gemma looked down at her white dress and lifted it slightly. The sunlight caught her bare legs, prompting Pierre to quickly look away.
Gemma instructed Pierre on how to prune the leaves and care for the flowers, sharing her knowledge.
Though this task was beyond Pierre’s usual duties, Corey had made it clear that as Gemma’s personal bodyguard, Pierre was to participate in her life fully and follow her directives unquestionably.
Pierre took meticulous notes.
Amused by his earnestness, Gemma, squatting in front of him, teased, “Do you listen to your girlfriend like this at home?”
Pierre answered simply, “No.”
Surprised, Gemma asked, “Why not?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Realizing the triviality of their exchange, Gemma remarked, “You’re handsome and yet unattached?”
“My job doesn’t allow time, and a bodyguard’s life doesn’t ensure safety. It wouldn’t be fair to involve someone else,” Pierre explained.
Gemma found his consideration touching. She mused about Corey, “If Corey were like you, I might have a sister-in-law by now. He’s terrible at relationships and doesn’t appreciate women.”