Chapter 1480Lysander’s gaze rested upon Rosalind, the once clingy little girl who used to buzz around him,
calling his name with every other breath. She had bloomed into adulthood, her upbringing in the
artistic Whitman family evident in her learned grace and literary air.
Especially those eyes; once brimming with childish innocence, they now held a mature, captivating
charm. They were like the deep, reflective pools of an autumn lake, hinting at a gentle and soulful
spirit.
But no matter how much Rosalind had matured, in Lysander’s eyes, she remained a child, a sister
in his heart.
Lysander tried to pull his hand away from her gentle grasp, but his body felt as though it was held in
place by an invisible force, and he could barely muster any strength. Even sitting up seemed an
impossible task, his arm heavy as if filled with lead.
“Rosalind, you’re still young. You should be with someone more… suitable,” Lysander rasped, his
eyes flickering down to where her fingers enclosed his wrist.
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A tear lingered in Rosalind’s eyes, halted by his words as if struck, but her impeccable manners
allowed her to release his hand. With a soft and virtuous demeanor, she replied, “Lysander, I’m not
that young anymore. I’m 25. Other women my age are already married with children.”
Before Lysander could speak, Rosalind hurriedly cut him off, “You’ve just woken up, you’re still very
weak. You need time to recover. Don’t worry about anything else; just focus on getting better.”
“Yeah, Rosalind’s got a point,” chimed in Zephyr, smoothing over the tension. “You’ve only just
come around. Getting your strength back is what’s most important right now. Everything else can
wait.”As they spoke, Dr. Funke entered the room. After examining Lysander, he concluded, “The patient
has been unconscious for three years. His muscle memory has deteriorated, and his motor
functions haven’t fully returned. With a few days of rest and rehabilitation, he should gradually
recover.”
“Thank you, Dr. Funke,” Zephyr said, a stark contrast to the anger he had first felt towards the
doctor.
Dr. Funke’s medical expertise had won Zephyr over, especially after so many other expensive
doctors had failed to heal Lysander, and he had done it without charging a dime. Zephyr couldn’t
help but respect him.
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“Don’t mention it. The patient is essentially on the mend now. Continue with the rehabilitation, and
he should be fine. I won’t be making further visits,” Dr. Funke said before packing his medical bag
and taking his leave. His treatment for Lysander had reached its conclusion.
After seeing off Dr. Funke, Zephyr approached Lysander’s bedside and asked, “Is there anything
you’d fancy eating, Lysander?”
Shaking his head, Lysander replied with a hoarse voice, “I’d like some time to myself.”
Zephyr’s expression faltered, understanding that Lysander was likely troubled by thoughts of
Thalassa. However, he couldn’t bring himself to offer even a half-hearted explanation on her behalf.
“Alright, you rest up. If you need anything, just call. There’s someone right outside the door,” Zephyr
said before signaling to Rosalind, and the two of them left the room.
Downstairs, a puzzled Rosalind asked, “Are you really going to let me take credit for Thalassa’s
care? Once Lysander is better, the truth will come out. The staff at Royal Estates know it was
Thalassa looking after him.”Rosalind had agreed to go along with Zephyr’s version of events under pressure, without having
had the chance to think it through. Faced with a tough situation, she had no choice but to rise to the
challenge.
“Just keep looking after Lysander, and I’ll handle the rest,” Zephyr replied with a deep and
commanding tone. He then summoned all the servants of Royal Estates and sternly addressed
them, “For these past three years that Lysander has been in a coma, it was Rosalind who single-
handedly cared for him. She fed him, washed him, and took care of every little thing. Thalassa
never set foot in Royal Estates. If anyone dares to slip up, forget about staying in Starhaven.”
Fitch looked on in surprise. “Sir, Ms. Everhart has been tirelessly…”
“Fitch, dock three months’ pay! And if you want your family to go hungry, keep talking!” Zephyr’s
piercing gaze shot towards Fitch, his authority unyielding.
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