What???
No, no, no! She hoped it wasn't what she was thinking.
"How am I supposed to help you with your bath? You're not a kid..." she trailed off, glancing at him with curious eyes. "Or did your parents spoil you so much that you can't bathe on your own?"
"...."
This woman! For what felt like the first time in forever, someone had left him speechless—and even embarrassed.
"No! Of course not. It's you who doesn't have a brain," he snapped, clearly agitated. He never expected, nor did he ever imagine, that this woman would actually humiliate him in front of his attendant.
What would they think of him from now on? He kept a blank expression, but on the inside, he was boiling with rage. Still, he knew exactly how he would handle the situation to his satisfaction. He had the upper hand, anyway.
With a blank face and a husky tone, he said, "Let's go so we can finish on time."
"G-go where?" she asked, her hands shaking.
"To the bathroom, of course," he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
Her heart skipped several beats. With great reluctance, she nodded and followed him. They went into his room—plain and uninteresting, nothing special in its arrangement.
"What are you waiting for? Come on, let's go to the bathroom," he said and headed straight in. She followed, as usual. Everything had already been prepared by the maids: warm water, soap, sponge—everything was in place.
Without hesitation, he undressed, leaving only his black boxers on. Ella quickly turned around, heat rising in her cheeks.
He soaked himself in the bathtub, which was filled with foamy lather. Then, with a simple signal, he motioned for her to pick up the sponge and begin.
She turned around slowly, unsure if this was actually happening. Was this real?
She stood there, stunned, as if she were in a dream—or a prank. Bending down slowly to pick up the sponge, she glanced at him, still expecting him to burst out laughing and tell her it was a joke. But no. His face remained expressionless, unwavering in its seriousness.
"Where am I... starting from?" she asked hesitantly.
Maximus leaned his neck back on the edge of the tub and lazily raised one hand.
Of course, it's the hand, she thought to herself.
She took his hand and began brushing in short vertical strokes, moving slowly and carefully. When she finished one hand—no, one muscular hand that made the hairs on her neck stand up—she moved to the other and repeated the same.
She was done with both hands. Muscular hands, she silently chuckled. No doubt about it, he had a chiseled body and flawless honey-toned skin that most women would dream of. But Ella? Obviously not interested.
His chest was broad—too broad. Ella had to stay cautious, fearing that if she slipped and landed on him, she might just disappear into his embrace.
He was too handsome. A man women would fall for at a glance. But Ella knew she was just an ordinary girl—someone who could only admire from afar.
"Did you have surgery?" she suddenly blurted out, unable to suppress her curiosity any longer. How could anyone be this perfect? No wonder he called her an ugly granny.
Was she really that ugly?
"No," he replied coldly, his voice sharp and clipped.
She felt like she might pass out. Her knees were starting to tremble.
Moving to his legs, she began scrubbing them gently. She didn't dare cross above the knee. She just kept to her task, feeling more uncomfortable with each second. The entire situation was surreal—and ridiculous. She was bathing a grown man, a stranger, and a very infuriating one at that.
Still, she tried to maintain a calm facade, but her body betrayed her. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her stomach felt like it was twisting itself into knots. Her kidneys practically vibrated in fear.
When she finally finished, she mumbled, "I'm done."
Maximus opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, something soft and wet landed right on his face.
Smack.
The sponge.
And the next thing he heard was the bathroom door slamming so hard, it rattled the windows.
"..."
What the hell just happened? Did she just throw the sponge at him—and walk out?
Eyes burning with fury, he stood and walked to the shower stand. Water cascaded down his toned frame, soaking his irritation along with the soap.
When he was done, he went to his room, dressed swiftly, and strode into the sitting room with clear intent. He was about to explode.
The first person he saw was Mrs. Florida.
Without a second thought, he went toward her and gripped her neck. "Where the hell is she?" he demanded, tightening his grip and lifting her with one hand.
The housekeeper, seeing what was happening, quickly intervened. "She's in her room, sir!"
Maximus let go of Mrs. Florida and marched straight to Ella's room. Reaching it, he kicked the door open.
Ella was lying on the bed, curled under the covers with her knees hugged to her chest. She was crying.
He froze—utterly speechless and taken aback.
Reluctantly, he walked closer to the bed. His earlier anger had faded, but he kept his expression unreadable.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, his tone flat.
She didn't respond—as if no one was even in the room with her.
"I said, why the hell are you crying?" His voice rose slightly. He was losing his patience. He had never been a patient man—so why was he trying so hard with her?
He reached down and shoved her shoulder, forcing her to look up.
She looked like a lost puppy.
"Maidi, why are you crying?"
"I..."
"Speak!"
"Nothing. I don't want to!!" she suddenly screamed.
What???
"Are you going insane? Do you want me to call a doctor?"
"I don't want to! I don't want to!!" she yelled again.
What was she talking about? He was completely confused.
"I don't want to," she repeated, this time in a softer tone.
He stared at her, trying to understand what was going on—but how could he? He didn't know a single thing about her. Maybe she was just a crybaby after all.
"Are you sick in the brain?" he asked bluntly.
She immediately shook her head.
"No... I don't want to bathe with you."
Maximus: "...."
She had run out because she imagined them bathing together in the same tub—and she thought she was losing her mind. Or worse, she feared it might have actually happened.
That's why she ran.