Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 35: Chapter 35 What really happened last night?

"Daisy! Daisy!"

Daisy was in her room, in a good mood because no one was home. Jenna was at work. Joseph had left for some business meetings. The servants were busy in the far corners of the mansion.

She had even eaten two cookies, a piece of bread with honey and a glass of cold milk.

She was happy.

She was sitting on her knitted carpet, her legs crossed, looking at her bottles with deep focus.

Then she heard Cedric’s shouts. Her eyes widened and her hands froze mid-stir.

Why was he here? Didn’t he go to the office today? Usually, when he went back to the beach house, he would go to the office from there.

"Daisy!"

His voice was impatient, sharp, and angry, which made her stomach clench and her heart race.

She quickly capped the bottle and shoved it into her wooden box. She pushed the box under her bed, behind her shoe box, hidden from view. She smoothed her baggy white dress and tucked her caramel hair behind her ears.

The door burst open, and Cedric barged in.

Her room was so small that his tall frame seemed to fill every corner. His broad shoulders nearly touched the doorframe. His dark hair was a mess, strands falling across his forehead, sticking up in the back like he had been running his fingers through it for hours. His blue eyes were bloodshot and tired, burning with frustration and something else. His jaw was tight. His hands were curled into fists at his sides.

He was wearing a white t-shirt and dark trousers, both wrinkled from sleep or travel or maybe from tossing and turning all night.

He was in a bad mood. A terrible mood.

His mind had been racing all morning. After leaving Naomi’s room, he had gone back to the beach house, crawled into bed next to Jessica, and stared at the ceiling until she woke up. He could not sleep. He could not think. His mind kept circling back to the same question, over and over, like a dog chasing its tail.

What really happened last night?

He was drunk, very drunk. He could admit that. He had drunk enough whiskey to drown a smaller man. But was he so drunk that he would sleep with Naomi? His friend? The woman he had known since high school?

The more he thought about it, the more something felt wrong.

He did not remember anything. Not touching her, not kissing her, not even a fragment of undressing her. Nothing. His memory was a blank wall from the moment Naomi helped him off the couch to the moment he woke up in her bed.

And Naomi... she had agreed too quickly. She had cried too perfectly. She had let him go too easily and had not demanded anything. She had not threatened to tell Jessica. She had just whispered ’of course’ and ’this never happened’ and let him walk out the door.

Now, with a clear head, with the alcohol flushed from his system, he realized the truth.

He had been fooled.

Naomi had set him up. She had seen him drunk and vulnerable, and she had taken advantage. He hadn’t been sober enough to know what he was doing. It wasn’t as if he would sleep with just anyone who helped him in that state. And she hadn’t been drunk at all. So why hadn’t she stopped him?

Those thoughts made his blood boil. His hands curled into fists. His jaw tightened. He wanted to confront her, to scream at her, to demand the truth.

But he could not.

Because if he confronted her, she might tell Jessica. And if Jessica found out... even if nothing actually happened, the appearance of something would be enough. She would never believe him and would leave him.

He groaned and ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier.

And then there was Jessica herself.

This morning, she had looked at him with suspicion in her eyes. Her red hair was messy, her lips were pursed, her arms were crossed over her chest.

"You didn’t come back to our room last night. I waited for you for hours," she had said. Not a question but an accusation. "Where were you?"

He had lied. The words had came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I was on the phone with Daisy. She had a nightmare. I had to calm her down."

Jessica had raised an eyebrow. Her green eyes had narrowed. "You talked to Daisy all night? The mute girl?"

He had realized his mistake immediately. The stupidity of it. The absurdity. How could he talk to a mute girl all night?

But he could not take it back. He could not tell her the truth. So he had doubled down.

"She types. I read. It takes time."

Jessica had stared at him for a long moment. Her expression was unreadable. Then she had laughed in disbelief and walked away.

She had let it go. For now.

But his head was pounding. His temples throbbed. His sinuses felt tight. His eyes hurt when he blinked.

He needed help.

And the only person in the mansion who might help him was the mute girl in the small room.

Now, standing in Daisy’s small room, looking at her wide dark eyes and confused expression, Cedric felt his headache pounding behind his eyes like a drum.

"My head is pounding," he said angrily. His voice was rough, sharp, demanding. "Treat it."

Daisy blinked in shock.

Treat it? His headache?

She was not a doctor. She was not a nurse. She was not a healer. How should she treat him?

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

She touched her throat and shook her head.

I cannot speak. I cannot ask you what is wrong. I cannot tell you what I need. You can go and see a doctor.

But according to Cedric’s logic, if she could treat his sea sickness, she could treat his headache too.

"Treat it," he said again, unhappily.

She did not know whether to be offended or amused.

She pointed at the floor. At her knitted carpet. At the spot in front of her, right between her bed and the wall.

Sit.

Cedric looked at the floor. His blue eyes followed her finger. He stared at the patchy, uneven, hand-knitted carpet she had made herself.

Then he looked at her. Then back at the floor.

"You are saying I should sit on the floor?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "On your... your carpet? On the floor like a child?"

Daisy nodded seriously. Her face was calm, patient and unreadable. She pointed at the carpet again, then at his head, then made a massaging motion with her hands, her fingers circling slowly in the air.

If you want me to help you, you need to sit where I can reach you. I am not tall enough to reach your head if you stand, and my bed is too high. So you sit on the floor like a child.

Cedric stared at her.

"Absolutely not."

Daisy tilted her head. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look. Her dark eyebrows rose. Her lips pressed together. Her eyes said everything her mouth could not.

Then suffer.

She turned around and walked toward her bed, as if she was going to sit down and ignore him.

The silence stretched.

His head throbbed.

He looked at her small carpet. Her ugly, patchy, uneven carpet that looked like it had been knitted by a grandmother with poor eyesight.

He sat down.