Chapter 158: His Guardian Angel
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3rd person pov
Adrien never left Noah’s side that night, staying close and attentive. After gently laying him on the bed, he moved with a sense of urgency, as if any wrong move could completely break him. He knelt down to take off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door, then quietly called for the maids, instructing them firmly yet softly to help change his clothes. He remained near during the whole process, turning away only when necessary, but never exiting the room, like a vigilant guard refusing to leave his post.
He made sure to pull fresh sheets over him, cool and clean against his skin, tucking the blanket around his shoulders in the nurturing way his mother used to do when he was sick. He got a glass of water and set it on the bedside table, adding painkillers just in case, and adjusted the curtains for a dim, calm atmosphere. At one point, he gently wiped the dried tears off his cheeks with a soft towel, feeling anger and guilt boiling beneath the surface as he did.
Sleep barely came for him. Instead, he sat in the chair next to his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, watching his chest rise and fall like it was the only thing keeping him together. Every little creak in the house made him jump, and every shadow in the hallway put him on high alert, an irrational fear gnawing at him that Patrick—or any of them—might reappear. He kept promising himself that nothing like this would ever happen again, not while he was around, not if he could help it.
As dawn approached and the house lay quiet, Adrien finally got up and headed downstairs. Mr. Carlby was still awake, as usual...as if he hardly slept at night, still sent about the mansion, moving stealthily through the kitchen making the tea flavor he adored. Adrien stopped him with just one sentence, his tone calm but with an edge.
"Hey," he said, locking eyes with the butler, "are you still in touch with that old police officer friend of yours?"
Mr. Carlby studied him for a long moment, understanding what was unsaid, then nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I am."
"Good," Adrien said, turning away before more questions could come. "I’m going to need that connection."
The next morning, sunlight filtered into Noah’s room, soft and golden, touching the pale blue walls and familiar furniture. He woke slowly, feeling heavy, his head pounding as he pushed himself up. Confusion flickered through him at first—why was he here, in his room, in his bed—until recognition hit him like a wave.