Inside the hospital room.

Lizetta's condition had actually stabilized. Although she had spiked a fever twice since waking up, neither had been dangerously high.

She was healthy enough to recover at home, but to maintain their cover, she hadn't stepped a single foot outside the room, nor had she even lingered near the windows.

Being cooped up in a hospital without contact with the outside world was incredibly boring.

However, Remington had stayed by her side the entire time. He handled all his work from the room and hadn't left the hospital once.

With him around, her days were anything but dull. If anything, they were far too lively.

His intense focus on her over the past couple of days bordered on obsessive. It was as if her near-death experience had triggered a severe trauma response in him.

Even during video conferences, he insisted she sit right next to him so he could reach out and hold her hand, or steal glances at her every few minutes.

It was ironic, really. Since they grew up, they had never spent this much uninterrupted time alone together.

She had to admit, it felt surprisingly wonderful.

Except for the fact that Remington had turned into an overbearing, overprotective partner, constantly dictating what she could and couldn't do.

For example, because she still had a mild fever, he absolutely refused to let her shower or wash her hair.

She couldn't stand it anymore, feeling absolutely gross and stifled.

She had to use every ounce of her charm and beg for over an hour before he finally caved and let her wash her hair.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she felt incredibly refreshed. She was towel drying her hair and walking toward the bed when the man on the sofa, who had been reviewing documents, immediately frowned.

"Why did you walk out with wet hair? Pneumonia is no joke! You're being reckless. If

your fever comes back tonight, don't expect any sympathy from me!"

Despite his harsh words, his long legs closed the distance between them in seconds.

He scooped her into his arms, spun around, and carried her right back to the bathroom.

The bathroom was still filled with lingering steam. It was exactly that suffocating heat she had been trying to escape.

Now she was back in it. He grabbed a large, folded bath towel, tossed it onto the edge of the marble sink, and set her down on it.

"Dry it for me. My arms are sore, I have no energy," she commanded playfully.

Sitting obediently with her body leaning slightly back, she tilted her fresh, makeup- free face up at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink from the steam, and her soft, teasing gaze was impossibly alluring.

There wasn't a single thing about

her that he could refuse. He willingly

took the towel from her handing

wrapping it around her hair to gently squeeze out the excess moisture.

His movements were incredibly tender and meticulous. Afraid of pulling her hair, he applied just the right amount of pressure, his expression focused and serious.

Peeking through her damp strands, she traced his sharp, handsome jawline. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest.

"Stop messing around, you're getting my shirt wet," he murmured.

Had he kept quiet, she might have stopped. But the moment he told her no, she acted like a spoiled child actively defying him. She rubbed her wet hair aggressively against his chest several times and teased.

"No! You've only taken care of me for two days and you're already annoyed? I knew

it. Hmph, you're definitely tired of me."