The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 184

184 An Unexpected Gesture of Care

I closed my eyes, regretting my sharp tone. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

The accusation, however gentle, prickled at me. “I didn’t disappear. I came to work, which is where I was headed in the first place.”

The ice pack began to drip, and I pulled it away from my forehead. “I think that’s enough ice for now.”

As Quentin disappeared down the hallway, I rubbed my temples. The injury that had seemed minor was now sending sharp pangs across my forehead. I’d been so determined to flee from Sebastian that I hadn’t realized how hard I’d hit my head.

“Hazel, please just let me know you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow at my tone but tactfully busied himself with reorganizing the files, giving me space for the call.

The answer came with stark clarity: I’d been trained to expect indifference. My defenses were built for neglect, not nurturing. When someone offered genuine care, I had no framework for how to receive it gracefully.

“Yes?”

Quentin wasn’t buying it. “I’m getting you an ice pack.” His tone left no room for argument as he turned toward the break room.

I sighed, both irritated and oddly touched by his insistence. People didn’t usually notice when I was hurt-or if they did, they rarely cared enough to do anything about

“Some friend,” Quentin remarked casually. “Sounds more like a doctor or a worried boyfriend.”

“Yes, on a Saturday,” I responded, more defensively than I intended. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of regular weekends.”

But it wasn’t what anyone would do-not in my experience. In my world, people rarely noticed your pain unless it somehow inconvenienced them. My father, stepmother, stepsister, even Alistair-none of them had ever shown genuine concern for my

184 An Unexpected Gesture of Care

well-being unless it affected their plans.

“Your forehead-” he started.

“Fine,” I replied, adjusting the ice pack. “Just a friend checking in.”

“It’s definitely not fine,” he countered, stepping closer to examine it. “That’s quite a bump now. You really should ice it.”

“You should have answered my texts,” he said, frustration edging into his tone. “I’ve been worried sick. You ran away and hurt yourself, then disappeared completely.”

“Yes, with Quentin. My colleague.” I emphasized the last word, wondering why I felt the need to clarify.

“It’s just a small bump,” I interrupted, not wanting him to make a big deal of it. “I barely feel it.”

His detailed concern caught me off guard. Most people would have simply said “feel better” and ended the call. “I… will. Thank you.”

Just then, Quentin returned with an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. “Here you go,” he said, loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

“Please keep that ice on for at least twenty minutes. And take some pain relievers if you haven’t already. The swelling might get worse before it improves.”

“Of course,” he said, gathering the remaining files. “Thank you for your time today. It was incredibly helpful.”

Perhaps that’s why Sebastian’s attention felt so overwhelming. It wasn’t just his confession that had sent me running-it was the intensity of his concern, the unwavering focus of his attention. I’d spent so long being invisible that being truly seen was almost painful.

“Don’t mention it,” he said with an easy smile. “It’s what anyone would do.”

Yet here were two men in one day, bothered by a simple bump on my head. Sebastian

had texted repeatedly, clearly distressed that I might be hurt. And Quentin, who barely knew me, had insisted on helping despite my protests.

Sebastian answered on the first ring. “Hazel? Are you alright?”

< 184 An Unexpected Gesture of Care

I shot him a warning look.

“On a Saturday,” Sebastian repeated, this time with a hint of something else-suspicion, perhaps?

The sincerity in his words made my chest tighten. After a moment’s hesitation, I hit the call button.

“No,” I confirmed, pressing the ice pack to my forehead. The cold relief was instant. “We’ve been reviewing past collection materials.”

Quentin nodded, accepting this vague explanation without pushing for more. “Most worthwhile things are.”

“Quentin Young, our new general manager,” I explained, taking the ice pack with a grateful nod. “He’s also working today.”

“I see.” Sebastian’s voice had taken on that controlled tone I recognized-the one that masked deeper feelings. “So you’re not alone there.”

“With Quentin,” he added.

&

His voice carried such genuine concern that I felt instantly ashamed of my childish avoidance. “I’m fine, Sebastian. Just busy with work.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m working.”

“Actually, yes,” I admitted, surprised at the reduced throbbing. “Thank you.”

Sebastian sighed. “I should let you get back to work then. But Hazel?”

“Call me later?” he asked, his voice softening again.

We worked in silence for a few minutes before I spoke again. “Sebastian is… complicated.”

As we walked toward the elevator, I felt a strange sense of self-awareness washing over me. Why had I reacted so poorly to Sebastian’s care? Why did I feel so awkward when people showed genuine concern?

“Who’s that?” Sebastian asked immediately, his voice tightening.

I wasn’t used to being cared for. It felt strange-uncomfortable even-to be the recipient of concern. For most of my life, I’d been the one looking after others: my

dying mother, my chronically ill fiancé, even my ungrateful father when he’d fallen ill years ago. I was the caretaker, not the one receiving care.

My phone buzzed again. Sebastian had been texting periodically throughout the afternoon, and guilt pinched at me for continuing to ignore him. I finally pulled out my phone to see his latest message:

The afternoon stretched on, files spread across the conference table like a paper sea. My bump-related headache had settled into a dull throb that I tried to ignore while discussing past fashion shows with Quentin.

“You look deep in thought,” Quentin observed, breaking into my reverie.

“Yes, Sebastian. Work happens on weekends sometimes,” I said, a defensive edge returning to my voice. “Especially in fashion.”

## Hazel’s POV

After ending the call, I looked up to find Quentin pretending not to have heard every

word.

“You hit it pretty hard,” he said, his voice softening. “Did you put ice on it?”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify