“The matter warrants no attention…” Elissa shifted uncomfortably, the intensity of his solicitude unfamiliar to their relationship.

“No?” Ernest’s voice hardened with skepticism. “Without physical evidence, how could you possibly determine nocturnal activity occurred? Reveal the location of your injury, or shall I conduct my own investigation?”

Beneath his cultivated exterior of refinement lurked a formidable perceptiveness and commanding presence. Confronted with this aspect of his character, Elissa recognized the futility of continued resistance.

“Alright! The injuries are here.”

Anticipating his persistence, Elissa grudgingly raised the hem of her nightgown, exposing the damaged flesh of her knees to his scrutiny.

The sight of the mottled discoloration transformed Ernest’s expression into a mask of heightened concern, his lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line. “You…” The single word carried volumes of unspoken consternation.

His hand swept toward her inner chambers in an authoritative motion. “Dress yourself appropriately. Medical attention is non-negotiable.” Read full story at

“No!” The refusal burst forth with unexpected vehemence.

Elissa’s head moved in vigorous negation, displeasure evident in her contracted brow. “These are merely superficial contusions. The severity is minimal. Medical facilities are wholly unnecessary for such trivial matters.”

Ernest maintained a pointed silence, visibly calculating alternative approaches before conceding temporarily. “Very well. Do you have any cream or medicine for bruises at home?”

“No,” Elissa repeated her negative gesture with emphasis. “Such remedies serve no essential purpose. The injuries are inconsequential—natural healing will occur within a couple of hours.”

Mastering the irritation threatening to overwhelm his composure, Ernest took a deep breath and stepped inside.

His visit had been prepared with characteristic forethought—a package from the beloved local establishment Grandma’s Kitchen accompanied him. He deposited the aromatic parcel on her table and then turned to Elissa, his tone noticeably softer. “Go wash up, then come have breakfast.”

“Okay.” Her reluctant agreement hung in the air between them.

Recognizing the futility of continued opposition, Elissa acknowledged his directive with a brief inclination of her head before retreating toward the bathroom.

Ernest extracted a chair from beneath the table and lowered himself onto it, simultaneously extracting his phone to dispatch instructions to his ever-reliable assistant Quentin…

With methodical precision, he unfolded the packaging and arranged its contents across the available surface, the fragrant steam rising from the carefully selected morning provisions.

Moments later, Elissa emerged.

“Come, sit and eat,” Ernest said, gesturing to the chair next to him.

“Thank you,” Elissa murmured, settling into the chair and quietly bowing her head over her food.

“Elissa…” Ernest began after a brief silence. “This is the second time you’ve been injured. Will you still refuse my help?”

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