The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)
Chapter 1058

Thalassa refused to drink. But Lysander wasn't budging either; he held out the glass in a silent showdown. She wouldn't sip; he insisted.

Lysander, gripping the glass a tad tighter, nudged it closer to her lips. When she wouldn't open her mouth, he deftly popped a straw between her lips and forced her to take it. "Come on, drink up." Lysander urged in a deep, velvety voice. "Your lips are not just swollen, they're cracking. You need to moisturize."

Thalassa had been stubbornly standing her ground, not wanting to take even a sip of the water he offered. But he had the gall to just go ahead and put the straw in her mouth. Was she not even in charge of her own drinking now?

Her eyes, pools of defiance, glared at Lysander, locking with his deep-set gaze. Those eyes held an authority that seemed to brook no argument.

And was there concern?

Was she imagining it?

"Please drink. Getting mad at someone is no reason to neglect your own health." he said, his deep eyes coaxing her to take a sip.

Thalassa's brows knitted together, her breaths coming in short bursts of anger. But despite her irritation, he had a point. Punishing herself for someone else's mistake was foolish.

She bit down on the straw, sucking in the warm water that soothed her parched throat, quenching the dryness with much-needed hydration.

She was so thirsty that once she started, she couldn't stop. The water disappeared in one long gulp.

She even choked a bit as she swallowed too quickly.

Thalassa released the straw and coughed. As she did, pain tugged at her stomach, and she instinctively cradled her belly. Her face creased with discomfort.

Upon seeing her action, Lysander quickly pressed the button to call the nurse. His handsome face tensed with barely concealed worry.

In the midst of her coughing, a warm hand suddenly pressed against her chest. Her breath hitched, panic rising, fearing Lysander was about to do something else overbearing. Her body tensed in anticipation.

But then, his hand began to pat her gently and rhythmically, helping to steady her breathing. "I told you to drink, not to down it like it's a race. No one's competing with you." he chided softly, his brows knitted in a mix of reprimand and concern.

Thalassa listened, somewhat taken aback by his tone. It wasn't the domineering edge she was used to; it sounded more like worry. A worry that showed through blame.

Did he actually care about her?

No, that couldn't be. He was probably just concerned about the baby she was carrying.

After so many letdowns, Thalassa didn't dare hope anymore, let alone believe that Lysander had an ounce of pity or care for her.

"Wasn't it you who told me to drink?" she retorted.

"I told you to drink slowly, not to chug it. Did I say to gulp it down?" Lysander replied.

Thalassa was silent.

Fine, he was right. She couldn't argue with that.

But drinking was her business, so as choking. Why was he more anxious than she was?

Soon, the doctor rushed over upon hearing the sound of the bell.