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Novel Catalog
Chapter 67
After multiple failed attempts to leave Veronica on her own, Matthew finally gave up and resigned himself to holding her up. It wasn’t until she had vomited so much that she could no longer bring anything up that he gently wiped her mouth and carried her back to bed.
His anger still simmered, and after depositing her on the bed, he landed a heavy slap on her backside. The sharp sound echoed around the room.
In her sleep, Veronica sucked in a pained breath but didn’t stir otherwise.
Matthew had restrained himself when he slapped her, but hearing her soft, pained breath made him pause. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled up the hem of her dress.
It might not have mattered if he hadn’t looked—but now, he saw the distinct five-fingered mark on her fair skin. His heart sank at the sight, and after staring at the bruises for a few seconds, he couldn’t help but gently rub them with his hand.
Once he was sure she was comfortable, he covered her back up with the blankets and left the bedroom.
In the living room, Matthew grabbed his cell phone and dialed Thomas. “Go and look into Veronica Murphy at once. I want to know everything about her.”
“Understood, Young Master Matthew,” Thomas replied, though there was a pause before he added, “What do I do with Miss Spencer?”
Matthew’s tone was dismissive as he replied, “Whatever you wish. I have no interest in anyone other than Veronica.”
He hung up without another word and, after a few hours of sleep, Veronica finally stirred. The afternoon sun filtered in as she staggered out of bed, one hand pressed to her aching head.
Upon opening the bedroom door and stepping out, she saw Matthew lounging on the couch, already up and tidying the living room. She rubbed her head and clutched her backside, feeling the discomfort of the slap still lingering. She shuffled over to the couch, where Matthew was leaning back with his legs crossed and a laptop propped in his lap, focused on his work.
“Did I fall on my a*s after drinking?” she asked, wincing as she gingerly sat down. “Why does it hurt so badly?”
Matthew’s eyes flickered with guilt, and he nodded curtly. “Mmhmm.”
“No wonder. It hurts so much.” Veronica shifted uncomfortably and flopped down onto the couch opposite him, her gaze never leaving him.
He was wearing a black shirt with the collar slightly parted, revealing the muscles of his tanned chest. The subtle definition of his pectorals was visible even through the thin fabric. His face, framed by tousled hair, was perfectly sculpted, as though he had been carved by a master.
There was no denying it—he was an exceptionally handsome man, a perfect specimen. They said that men were at their most attractive when they were focused on something, and it was true. As Veronica watched him, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction.
But she quickly suppressed her thoughts. A black-hearted bastard, that’s what he is.
“Are you done looking?” Matthew’s teasing voice broke her thoughts. He glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
Veronica quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing. “Pfft! Don’t be so self-centered. Who’s looking at you? I’m only looking at the painting on the wall behind you,” she fibbed.
Just then, her stomach grumbled loudly, betraying her.
“Are you hungry?” Matthew asked, glancing at her as he finished his work.
Veronica nodded rapidly, though the movement made her dizzy. She froze, holding her head.
“Do you want to eat?” he asked again, his voice unwavering.
“Yes,” she mumbled, her stomach growling again in response.
“Beg me then,” he said with a playful grin. “You never know; I might consider making you something to eat.”
Veronica rolled her eyes but, feeling the hunger pangs overwhelm her, shot him a grin that felt wrong coming from her. “Matthew—no, darling brother—won’t you make me some food? I’m so hungry…”
It was so cringeworthy that even she almost gagged, but desperation drove her to it.
Matthew, however, just watched her with a smirk, amused by her sudden shift to acting spoiled. “What do you want?” he asked smugly.
“My stomach’s in a mess. I’d like some oatmeal. Later on, I’d like to visit your grandmother to thank her for sending you across the continent to rescue me,” she added, naive in her assumption that Elizabeth had been the one who sent Matthew to her aid.
The smile on Matthew’s face vanished immediately. He shot her a cold glance. “You’re her god-granddaughter. I only saved you because I wanted her to be happy. Don’t go worrying her now by thanking her.”
Veronica blinked in surprise. “Does that mean she doesn’t know what happened to me?”
Matthew paused mid-step and turned his head slightly. “She can’t take any more excitement.”
His tone made it clear that he had acted not because of any personal obligation but because he didn’t want to add to Elizabeth’s troubles.
Veronica’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh! You’re such a good grandson!”
Her voice had a mocking edge, though Matthew couldn’t find any concrete proof of it. He grunted, fed up with her.
Turning toward the kitchen, Matthew quickly emerged with a bowl of oatmeal in hand. He placed it in front of her with a curt, “Get up and eat.”
“That was fast,” Veronica commented, still stunned.
It had barely been a couple of minutes since he’d gone into the kitchen. She hadn’t expected him to return so quickly, especially not with oatmeal.
“Did you make this?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
Matthew just looked at her coldly. “Are you going to eat it or not?”
“Yes, I am,” Veronica answered quickly, her hunger outweighing her pride. She took the bowl of warm oatmeal and, blowing on a spoonful, ate it.
She had expected something simple, but the nutty banana oatmeal was absolutely delicious, richer than anything she could have imagined.
“Who made this? Why is it so delicious?” she asked, now thoroughly impressed. She thought Matthew had prepared it, but the taste suggested otherwise.
Without answering her, Matthew pulled a box of stomach medicine from the bar and tossed it to her. “Take your meds.”
“Meds? What meds?” Veronica frowned as she read the box and saw that it was for stomach discomfort.
She remembered then—he must have been worried about how much she drank the night before.
“Oh, come on. I have a great alcohol tolerance. You didn’t see me throw up once after drinking three or four bottles of wine. I’m obviously fine,” she said, her tone confident.
Matthew, however, only thought back to the sight of her vomiting in his bathroom earlier and felt a surge of irritation. He didn’t say anything, though—just watched her with an exasperated gaze.
In the end, he said nothing further, but the thought of her confidently dismissing his concerns made him want to strangle her.
