The alarm clock was a common one found in stores-a plastic, apple-shaped device that only displayed the time, not the date.
It was 10:13 a. m.
Had I slept through the night?
No.
I quickly dismissed that thought.
Before losing consciousness, I remembered having a fever due to an infected wound. My head ached, my throat was dry, my whole body felt weak, and my lungs hurt so badly it felt like they might explode.
With symptoms that severe, even with prompt treatment, I should have woken up feeling noticeably unwell.
But I didn’t. Aside from the pain in my abdomen and palm, I felt completely healed.
The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped without me realizing it. Bert dried his hands and emerged.
“Go wash up,” he urged me, walking over to pack up the first aid kit.
“What date is today?” My phone was missing, and there were no other electronic devices in the room to check the date, so I had to ask Bert directly.
Though I could still sense Bert’s anger, he was, without a doubt, a perfect gentleman.
Bert paused for a moment before answering, “It’s 10 a. m. on the 20th.”
My eyes widened. “I’ve been asleep for two days?”
Bert glanced at me, his tone returning to its usual detached calm. “Clean clothes are in the closet. Breakfast is in the dining room downstairs.”
With that, he put the first aid kit back in the storage cabinet and left the room.
Bert had no reason to lie to me, so it really was September 20th.
I’d been missing for two days, and my bodyguards hadn’t found me?
And Rosa.
Her itinerary in Mexico City had been exposed. What would she do next? Continue her escape or pause in Mexico to launch a furious retaliation against me?
My trip to Mexico was getting more interesting by the minute.
After lying in bed for two days, my stomach was empty. I was starving, craving hamburgers, fried chicken, and pizza to fill the void.
I put on my shoes, went into the bathroom, and quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face. I also took a quick hot shower.
As the warm water flowed over my body, washing away the sweat and stickiness, I finally felt alive again.
It was so comforting.
If it weren’t for the wound on my abdomen, I would have loved to soak in the tub a little longer.
Oops, I’d turned the water on too high, and the protective measures weren’t enough. Water seeped through the plastic wrap and dampened the gauze on my wound.
I quickly turned off the shower and removed the plastic wrap.
Thankfully, I acted fast, and only a small part of the gauze got wet.
Relieved, I knew this hot shower had to end. I grabbed a dry towel, wiped myself down, and wrapped myself in a bathrobe before stepping out of the bathroom.
The room clearly wasn’t used often. The walk-in closet was mostly empty, with only a few clothes hanging, their tags still attached.
I glanced at the tags and was surprised to find they were all my size.
Had Bert prepared these for me? How did he know my size?
But…
Why were there only tops and pants? No underwear?
Just as I was debating whether to remind Bert, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
It wasn’t Bert who entered but a plump, middle-aged woman wearing an apron.
She must have been the housekeeper or maid.
“Miss Luciano, I’m Mae, and I worked for Mr. Falcone.” Her smile was warm, like sunshine. “He asked me to clean the room.”
Mae’s main task was cleaning up the shattered vase on the floor.
I felt a little embarrassed. “Hello, Mae. I might need your help.”
“I need a clean set of underwear.”
“I’m sorry, that was my mistake,” Mae said. “Mr. Falcone instructed that all new underwear must be washed and sterilized. I forgot to put them away.”
“Please give me a moment.” Mae immediately put down her cleaning tools and left.
Soon, she returned with clean underwear.
“Thank you, Mae.”
“It’s my job, Miss Luciano,” Mae replied. “You can ask me for anything you need.”
“I think that’s all for now,” I said.
I’d be leaving here soon, whether my bodyguards had found me or not.
After changing, I followed Mae’s directions to the dining room for breakfast.
The villa was a detached one, roughly over 200 square meters, designed in a very typical American style-relaxed, natural, comfortable, and cozy. The living room featured a postmodern, luxury leather sofa and a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a stunning view of the garden outside. It was love at first sight.
I had to admit, the designer of this villa had excellent taste. I loved it.
“Good morning, Mr. Falcone.”
Bert was sitting on the sofa, working on his iPad, with a cup of rich, aromatic Blue Mountain black coffee by his side.
Hearing my greeting, he calmly glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands pointed exactly to 11 a. m.
He nodded slightly, his tone calm but laced with sarcasm, “Good morning. Are you ready for lunch already?”
I walked down the stairs, leaned my elbow on the back of the sofa, and chuckled softly, “If lunch is something you’ve cooked yourself, why shouldn’t I consider it?”
Before Bert could respond, I quickly added, “I want fried chicken, hamburgers, fries, and ice cream!”
Bert stared at me in silence.
I flashed him a smile, brighter than the sunlight outside.
Finally, Bert couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Mae has prepared… food for you in the dining room.”
I suspected that slight pause was him debating whether to say “breakfast” or “lunch.”
Of course, he chose to avoid arguing with me.
I’d won this round.
I walked into the dining room triumphantly.
Mae had prepared a lavish spread: bacon sandwiches, vegetable salad, roasted chicken wings, Italian pie, and creamy mushroom soup.
“Is this all for me?” I asked Bert. “Have you eaten?”
Bert began packing up his things. “I have a lunch appointment and have already reserved a restaurant.”
“There’s a spare phone and cash in your room’s drawer. You can use them,” Bert said. “Take your medication half an hour after eating. I’ve already told Mae the dosage; she’ll give it to you.”
“Wait a minute…”
“Also, your wound bled again this morning. It needs to be treated again.”
“I’ve scheduled a doctor for you. He’ll be here at 2 p. m.” Knowing I was cautious, Bert reassured me, “Don’t worry, the doctor treating you is my friend Garrett. He’ll keep your secret.”
After explaining everything, Bert picked up his files and prepared to leave.
It was as if he’d stayed just to wait for me.
“Wait, Bert,” I paused, feeling a little guilty for insisting on leaving. “I need to go. I have an important competition…”