Chapter 419

"Get out!" Donovan's voice thundered through the room as he seized a nearby bottle and hurled it against the wall.

The sound of shattering glass echoed sharply, fragments scattering across the floor. Evelyn gasped, covering her mouth in alarm. She feared Rosalind might get hurt. But Rosalind moved swiftly, dodging the flying shards before pushing Donovan's wheelchair into a safer corner.

Seeing this, Evelyn rushed into the living room to help Rosalind gather all the dangerous items into bags and haul them outside.

Donovan sat slumped in his chair, his arms limp at his sides, his head lolling back weakly. He looked like a man who had given up on life entirely.

Rosalind approached him cautiously, studying his disheveled appearance. His unkempt hair fell over his hollow eyes, his gaunt face shadowed by days of unshaved stubble. His frail frame was swallowed by an oversized shirt and loose pants.

At that moment, he was nothing more than a hollow shell—empty, broken, and devoid of any will to live.

Evelyn stepped closer, her eyes brimming with tears. "Donovan, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If you keep refusing to eat or rest, your body won’t survive. You’ll waste away."

Rosalind gently guided Evelyn toward the door. "Go home," she said firmly. "Leave him to me."

She met Evelyn's worried gaze with quiet determination. "Give me one year. I'll not only clear your debts, but I'll also get this man back on his feet."

Evelyn hadn’t expected repayment, but she desperately hoped Rosalind could help Donovan. With a hesitant nod, she stepped outside.

As the door closed behind her, unease settled in her chest. She lingered, torn between leaving and staying.

Inside, Rosalind locked the door before turning back to Donovan. Her expression shifted from gentle concern to steely resolve.

"Listen carefully, Donovan," she said, her voice low but unyielding. "I'm Rosalind Fairchild. Starting today, I'm your full-time caregiver."

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I'm in charge of everything—your meals, your hygiene, your routine. Whether you like it or not, you will cooperate."

Donovan didn’t react.

"Leave," he muttered coldly.

Rosalind ignored him. "No more alcohol. You’ll shave, shower daily, and eat five small meals. You’ll exercise for two hours and spend an hour in sunlight."

She crossed her arms. "I’ll read to you—motivational books, current affairs. You will engage with the world again."

A bitter laugh escaped Donovan’s lips. He sounded derisive, as if the very idea was absurd.

Rosalind didn’t flinch. She moved behind him and pushed his wheelchair toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

Outside, Evelyn hesitated, her hand hovering near the doorknob.

Then—a loud crash.

Something heavy hit the floor. Donovan’s furious shout followed.

"Don’t touch me! Get out!"

Rosalind’s sharp retort cut through. "Stop fighting me!"

"Go to hell!"

"If you were half the man you used to be, you’d fight back properly. Until then, you’ll do as I say."

A growl. "You insane woman—stop trying to undress me!"

Rosalind scoffed. "Insane? You drove me to this. If you cooperated, would I need to bathe a grown man? No? Then brace yourself—it’s only going to get worse."

Evelyn pressed her ear to the door, her pulse racing. The struggle inside sounded intense.

Rosalind’s methods were extreme, but Evelyn prayed they’d work.

For Donovan’s sake.