My Mistress Became My Wife (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 120

After Harold left, Lily, who had been staring blankly at the closed door, finally came to her senses. She hurriedly set off after him.

But Harold had already vanished beyond the dim corridor. She would have gone toward the kitchen if she knew where it was, but since she didn’t, she resigned herself and returned to her bedroom. As a guest, it wouldn’t be proper etiquette to wander around someone else’s mansion.

She’d refused earlier because she didn’t want to trouble the servants, who were probably resting deeply—and never in her wildest dreams had she expected Harold to volunteer himself.

Lily let out a small sigh and turned her head. In the full-length mirror, she saw her own reflection—wearing a nightgown so sheer it nearly revealed her bare skin, her hair wildly tangled as if she’d just wrestled someone by the hair. Sleep crust still clung to her eyes, and her fever-flushed cheeks looked rather unkempt.

Good heavens—she’d actually spoken to that man looking like this.

It was only natural that she looked disheveled, having just awakened from a fever so severe it made her pass out—but even so, she felt deeply embarrassed. Especially by that excessively sheer nightgown.

Having found something to do before Harold returned, Lily sprang into action. She first went to the bathroom, washed her face, and tried to tidy her hair. She wanted to take a bath—her skin felt sticky from the cold sweat—but unfortunately, she didn’t know when Harold might come back, so there wasn’t time. And she couldn’t very well summon a maid right now to prepare bathwater, so she settled for washing her face.

She tried to comb out her tangled hair, but it was hopelessly knotted. Resigned, Lily gathered her hair into a tight bun and fetched a fresh nightgown from the wardrobe to change into.

“This should be enough.”

She thought she’d done everything she could and that it would be fine—until she glanced back at the mirror and changed her mind instantly. Frowning, Lily brushed her fingers over the vivid fever marks on her cheeks. They were blemishes she couldn’t fix right away, and since they were the part Harold would notice most, they bothered her all the more.

Maybe some makeup would cover them? As if entranced, Lily walked toward the dressing table. Just as she opened a drawer and looked at the neatly arranged cosmetics, a soft knock sounded, and Harold entered the room.

“Why are you standing up when you’re still unwell?”

“…This much is fine.”

Startled, Lily quickly closed the drawer, pretending nothing was amiss as she calmly replied. Then she noticed the tray Harold set on the sofa table. A shallow bowl held a delicious-looking meat soup. Lily’s eyes widened.

“Did you make this yourself?”

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