o n e
Tiny
.
That was the word that passed through Ares Blackwell's mind when he first saw her. When Lawrence had banged on his door late at night, stumbling over his words to tell him that some woman was unconscious outside the estate and she seems to be hurt, Ares had initially been frustrated.
Sleep hardly came to him as it is, and now his much needed rest was interrupted because some woman was wandering outside his property?
Annoyance had flowed into him under all the frustration, yet he had tugged on his robe and marched down the stairs all the same. He was heartless, sure, but he was still at the very least human enough to make sure the damned woman was still breathing.
He'd stepped outside to find a few of his staff hovering around a few feet away from a lump on the ground. He held in a cuss, angered that the whole estate was woken up because of this mystery woman. He'd looked across the area, unable to find the said woman until his eyes caught movement.
The lump had arms.
The lump was the woman.
"Are you all just going to stand there?" he bit out harshly, striding passed his employees to where the woman had laid motionless.
He ignored the sputtering, the bumbled attempts to form responses, and kneeled by the woman.
Her thick, silken dark hair, covered the entirety of her face. She wore what was supposed to be a white dress, but was now smudged black with dirt and mud. Ares found himself ordering Lawrence to phone in his personal doctor,
"Tell him it's urgent. If he chooses not to come, he's fired."
He went on with his inspection. She was tiny. Her form was small in the way she seemed like she would break if you were to hug her too tight. Dainty arms, a slender curve of her hips, a chest generous enough that one breast would fit perfectly in his hand. He chastises himself for his wandering mind and blamed his insomnia for his lack of self-control.
She was definitely a woman.
Carefully, he cradled her head, brushing her dark tresses away from her face.
Beautiful.
A beautiful face to go along with a beautiful body.
She was exactly what he expected her to look like. She looked fragile enough with plump red lips, and long lashes fanning across rosy cheeks. Her brows were shapely, her nose straight with a point, and the curve of her jaw prominent.
She'd woken up- just for a second, but a second was all it took.
Her eyes fluttered, and brilliant blue eyes met his. He'd felt his heart stutter, his breathing stop, but he kept his composure. He'd met her eyes, and didn't look away until she drowsy blinked and fell into a slumber once again.
Pity.
She was hurt, he said.
Thomas Wilford had been a reliable doctor for as long as Ares was still a child. Thomas worked for his father, and now, he worked for him.
"She's incredibly malnourished."
The elder man glanced at the woman laying fast asleep in the guest room.
"She has a sprained ankle, and a few bruised ribs. She's going to need some time to rest before she can go and do anything too strenuous for her body. It's best to take her to a hospital. We don't know much about her internal injuries."
Ares looked over to where she laid, eyes taking in the way she breathed in and out. The rise and fall of her chest was almost hypnotic. A steady pattern that had eased his mind.
She'd be fine.
"Thank you, doctor. That's all. I'll call for you if I need your assistance again."
Thomas had looked like he wanted to protest, but in the end, gave him a curt nod and made way for the door.
Not before he threw the girl another look.
Ares wasn't sure what compelled him to do it. Why he chose to do something as troubling as this, but he decided to let her stay.
He pretended as if the thought of sending her away didn't bother him.
Harmless.
She woke up again the next day. She was conscious long enough for her to tell him her name,
"Evelyn."
Ares was sitting by her bedside when she said it.
"Evelyn...?"
He urged, leaning forward as the girl pursed her lips. Her eyes fell to her hands before she spoke again,
"Evelyn."
It took him no longer than a second to realize what that meant.
Ares' lips parted, slowly leaning back into his seat as he nodded.
"Evelyn."
Quiet.
Evelyn was a quiet little thing. When she was allowed to walk- or well, wobble around with her crutches, she'd appear and disappear so quickly, you don't see her.
She hardly spoke.
Hardly made a noise.
It bothered him.
Ares had stared at her, watching the way she was entranced by the garden in the backyard. She was smiling, comfortably sitting on the bench. He didn't know why she was so amused by this.
She went outside to sit there daily, always at the same time, like a ritual.
He couldn't deny his curiosity.
He should've been looking over documents. He should've been studying the charts and diagrams, but instead, he watched the furrow of her brows. The minuscule change of her expression when she lost herself in thought. The curl of her mouth when she got frustrated with whatever she was thinking.
It was amusing.
It was addicting.
Shy.
She had been shy, bashfully looking away from him when she gleefully laughed at the way his fearsome- well, supposedly fearsome- German Shepard licked a strip up on her face.
She was in the garden as usual, sitting at the same spot, when his dog had run up on her and demanded pets and kisses.
Ares was taken aback.
His dog, Spot, had been quite taken by their odd little guest.
That makes two of them, he muses.
"He seems to like you."
Evelyn flinched at the booming voice belonging to one Ares Blackwell.
She was intrigued, a little intimidated, but utterly entranced by the beautiful, imposing tyrant she dwelled with.
She didn't know him, nor did he know her.
She doesn't know why he took her in, but she was smart enough to know when luck falls into her lap.
"Well, I like him."
She responded, running her hands over the dog's head.
Ares sat beside her as she played with Spot.
He came back again the next day, and the following days after.
