Ava sat in silence long after Dominic left the room.
Her cheeks were warm—too warm. Not from the fever this time, but from a deep, embarrassing realization: he had just said he'd cook for her.
Dominic Vale. The most feared CEO in the city. The man with the coldest eyes, sharpest tongue, and the kind of presence that made entire boardrooms freeze.
She groaned softly, dragging a pillow over her face.
"This is insane…"
Cooking for her, well It wasn't like it was his first time—I might as well take the opportunity to savor it again
After a minute of spiraling in secondhand embarrassment, she finally sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her muscles still ached, but they no longer screamed. Just a dull fatigue now—manageable.
Her feet touched the cool floor, grounding her.
She walked slowly to the bathroom, steadying herself on the walls.
When she turned the lights on, she flinched.
In the mirror stood a pale ghost—her. Her once-glossy hair was now a tangled mess, sticking out in strange angles. Though some color had returned to her cheeks, she still looked like someone who had survived a storm… and forgot to comb their hair after.
"No wonder he looked like he'd seen a corpse," she muttered, quickly washing her face and splashing water on her neck.
A few minutes later, she stepped out in fresh clothes—simple loungewear that was too big on her and obviously borrowed from the suite's wardrobe. The sleeves fell past her wrists.
She ran her fingers through her damp hair, trying to make it look somewhat decent.
The scent of warm food drew her in like a magnet.
As she entered the living area, her eyes landed on Dominic standing in the open kitchen. He was plating a bowl of steaming porridge, the kind that looked too elegant to be something so simple.
When he looked up and saw her walking—albeit slowly—his brow furrowed.
"You didn't have to get up yet," he said, his voice laced with quiet disapproval. "I could've brought the food to you."
Ava blinked, caught off guard. "I'm fine now," she replied, trying to sound composed.
He clearly didn't agree, if his expression was anything to go by.
Still, he said nothing, just placed the hot bowl on the table and began walking toward her.
No—with big strides.
Ava stopped mid-step. "What are you—"
Before she could finish, Dominic scooped her up effortlessly in his arms.
She gasped. "Wha—hey! What are you doing?!"
He didn't answer. Just carried her across the room like she weighed nothing and gently set her down on one of the dining chairs.
"That… wasn't necessary," she muttered, glaring at him.
He stared at her calmly. "You still look half-dead."
She glared harder, but he'd already turned his attention to the food.
Ava glanced at the porridge. It was piping hot, with neatly sliced scallions and a drizzle of sesame oil.
She picked up the spoon.
The sincerity of the dish made her pause.
There was no point arguing with someone who went out of his way like this. So she ate in silence.
She barely got through the second spoonful before she felt warm air brushing the back of her neck.
She turned, confused.
Dominic was standing behind her—with a hairdryer in one hand.
"What—"
"Sit still," he said, switching it on.
She froze.
Warm air whooshed gently through her damp strands. His free hand occasionally swept through her hair to keep it from tangling.
Ava sat there, stunned.
It wasn't the gentle scolding in his tone that caught her off guard.
It wasn't even that he was drying her hair without a single complaint.
It was what he'd said—casual, but piercing.
"How can you be so careless, Ava?"
Her breath caught.
He used her real name.
Not Ellis.
Not Miss Ellis.
Not a lie.
Just… Ava.
Spoken softly. Velvet-wrapped steel. Her name never sounded so personal.
Until now.
The realization hit her like a wave, making her chest tighten.
Everyone else calling her "Ellis" never meant anything. But this—this careless use of "Ava" felt like he'd peeled away her mask and seen her. The real her. The one no one else knew in this city.
She bit her lip, unsure how to react.
So she didn't.
She just sat there in silence, letting the warmth of the dryer and the weight of his words wash over her.
When he was done, he quietly put the dryer away and walked to the other side of the table.
She spooned the last bit of porridge, finally feeling warmth settle in her bones—not just from the food, but from everything else unspoken.
A moment later, she looked up at him.
"How long did I sleep?" she asked, brushing her hair back.
Dominic leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his face unreadable.
"Two days," he said simply.
She choked. "Two days?!"
Her eyes widened as panic rose in her chest. "No way! I promised my mom I'd call her. She must be—God, she must be freaking out right now!"
Dominic didn't even blink.
He simply sipped his tea and said, "Then you should probably call her. Before she calls the police."
Ava stared at him in horror. "You're not helping!"
"You were unconscious, not kidnapped."
"Well, technically…"
He gave her a look.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. "She's going to ask a hundred questions…"
Dominic quirked a brow. "Then lie better this time."
She peeked at him between her fingers, half-offended, half-flustered.
He didn't smirk, but the corner of his lips twitched slightly.
Ava sighed again and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.
"…Thanks," she muttered quietly.
Dominic raised a brow. "For what?"
"For… everything." She gestured to the food. The dryer. Him.
He didn't say anything.
Just looked at her, like he was memorizing every expression on her face.
She turned away under his gaze, suddenly too aware of everything again.
This man was a walking contradiction. Cold yet warm. Distant yet protective.
And for some insane reason, she didn't hate it.