Chapter 172

You Are Inhuman

It was past three o’clock in the afternoon when Genevieve finally woke up.

Without much memory of what had happened during the wee hours of the morning, she rubbed the
sleep from her eyes and stumbled out of bed. However, as soon as her feet touched the carpet, the
soreness between her legs almost caused her to topple over.

She barely held onto the bed for support, but thankfully, that was enough to keep herself from falling.

The next second, Genevieve grabbed her phone from the bedside table and texted the man who had
long since left the bedroom: Armand Faulkner, you’re inhuman!

Shortly after she sent her message, the door suddenly opened.

Even though Armand seemed cold and aloof as he walked in wearing a buttoned-up white shirt and
black pants, there was no doubt that his face wore a look of contentment.

Upon seeing a grim-faced Genevieve leaning against the bed, Armand smiled. Without further ado, he
lifted her wordlessly in his arms and carried her into the bathroom.

Genevieve, on the other hand, angrily typed out another message: You’re inhuman! You’re a sc*mbag!
You’re an animal!”

“You were the one who flirted with me,” Armand said matter-of-factly.

He had intended to place Genevieve on the marble countertop, but when he recalled how she had
flinched at the cold marble when they kissed there the night before, he laid a towel on it before settling
her down.



Genevieve continued with her text: I only kissed you once! Couldn’t you have pushed me away? You
inhuman sc*mbag!

“Have you ever seen a wolf turn down a piece of meat dangling in front of it?” Armand asked with a
chuckle. After squeezing toothpaste out onto a toothbrush and sticking it into Genevieve’s mouth, he
added, “Brush your teeth.”

Alas, the moment she bit down on the toothbrush, Genevieve lifted her leg and kicked Armand.

Despite her frustration, she went on to brush her teeth and wash her face under the watchful eye of
Armand. Once that was all done, he carried her back out and onto the chair at the dressing table.

To her surprise, the chair, too, had been padded with a soft towel.

When Armand returned with the hotel restaurant’s menu, Genevieve had just applied face toner, but
her expression remained cold and gloomy as she glared at him through the mirror.

“I’ve told Steven to cancel the flight tickets,” Armand remarked. While putting the menu on the dressing
table, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of the hickeys dotting Genevieve’s delicate arms.

My goodness, her skin’s too tender. I didn’t even use that much force, yet the hickeys still haven’t
faded.

For some inexplicable reason, Armand felt his heart soften. He stroked her earlobe and said in a low
voice, “Once you’re feeling better, we’ll take the private plane back to Jadeborough, okay?”

Genevieve slapped his hand away and began typing: Who cares about taking your private plane? I’ll
have you know I’m fit as a fiddle! It’s all your fault. You’re inhuman!

Even through text, she could not bring herself to elaborate and decided to scold Armand again.



Genevieve: Didn’t people say men can’t perform as well once they’re in their thirties? She suddenly
stopped typing as memories of the terrifying experience came flooding back. Before long, she was
back on her phone again: Did you take enhancement pills to get back at me?

After the man read the text on her memo, his face darkened.

Leaning down, he grabbed the back of Genevieve’s head and kissed her fiercely. Only when she was
out of breath did he then release her.

“Genevieve, if you continue to harbor such nonsensical thoughts, I’ll let you stay on in Springwyn for
two more weeks and make sure you can’t even get out of bed,” Armand warned, clearly not joking at
all.

Genevieve held his gaze, but it was barely a few seconds later when she conceded and picked up the
menu to cover her face.

Since she had missed several meals, Genevieve was famished. Naturally, she had no problem
polishing off a few dishes on her own when the waiter finally delivered the food.

Having regained her strength from the sumptuous meal, she plopped on the bed and began playing
with her phone.

Since Armand did not have many video conferences to attend and only needed to go through some
emails, he decided to work from the bedroom instead of the living room.

He looked up occasionally, but every time, he would see Genevieve still sprawled on the bed and
scrolling through her phone. After a while, he picked up the finance book and tossed it to her. “Stop
playing with your phone and do some reading. Read at least ten pages before you sleep tonight.”



Genevieve’s good mood from browsing the news disappeared almost instantly as she fiddled with the
dreaded book.

Then, she began to type out a text to voice her objection: I’m still a patient. I can’t read.

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