A chilly gaze collided squarely with Cecilia Ye’s eyes. Curled up on the sofa, she looked even more delicate—her posture a little endearing, one eye open, the other still half-shut.

Xavier Fostern lowered his laptop from his lap and stood up. With his long legs, it took just two strides for him to reach Cecilia Ye.

With two graceful fingers, he took the sketchbook from her hands and glanced at the drawing—an unmistakable portrait of himself.

Cecilia Ye finally snapped to attention and shot upright on the sofa, face turning slightly red. “Xavier Fostern, give it back!”

Xavier Fostern pinned her down with one hand while raising the sketchbook higher with the other. Growing anxious, Cecilia Ye pleaded, “Hey, don’t look!”

Even standing on the sofa, she was only just as tall as Xavier Fostern. But with those long arms of his, he easily held the sketchbook out of her reach. Cecilia Ye, carrying a baby, dared not try too hard to snatch it.

After looking his fill, Xavier Fostern returned the sketchbook to her and leaned in, teasing, “How possessive. You draw me but won’t let me see?”

“….” Cecilia Ye hugged the sketchbook tightly to her chest, cheeks flushed. “There’s no one else around, so you’re the only one I can draw.”

“It’s really good. Do it again next time.”

He turned, picked up his laptop, and headed upstairs.

“Zhiyen, are… are you staying here tonight?” Cecilia Ye couldn’t help but ask as she watched his retreating back.

“Yeah.”

Cecilia Ye lingered downstairs for a while. As night deepened, she had no choice but to head up herself.

She genuinely couldn’t figure out why Xavier Fostern insisted on following her around.

Just as she entered the room, Xavier Fostern finished replying to some emails and closed his laptop.

He glanced at Cecilia Ye, whose lips were pressed together, and said, “Help me wash up.”

“….” When she didn’t move, he waved his hand. “Can’t get my wound wet.”

Cecilia Ye turned to run water for the tub, then went downstairs. When she came back up, she had a roll of plastic wrap in hand.

She tugged up his sweater a bit—and thankfully, the gauze over his wound was no longer bleeding.

“Wrap this around, so your arm doesn’t get wet,” she said, pulling him to sit on the edge of the bed as she crouched down to wrap his hand.

Watching his wife so earnestly fuss over him, Xavier Fostern got up to a little mischief.

“Hiss—” He sucked in a breath, frowning at the slight sting.

Just as he expected, Cecilia Ye immediately stilled, eyeing his face in concern. “Does it really hurt that much?”

“Hmm… it’s bearable.” The worried look on her face clearly pleased him.

Originally, Cecilia Ye just wanted to wrap his arm and let him wash himself—but seeing how inconvenient it was, she relented.

“Fine. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His arm now awkwardly mummified in plastic wrap, Xavier Fostern looked down and frowned but chose to bear it.

One after the other, they entered the spacious bathroom. Steam from the round tub filled the room with a warm haze.

Xavier Fostern stood still, prompting Cecilia Ye to wonder if he actually needed her at all.

Then, his tall figure bent low in front of her. “Undress me.”

…

Sighing inwardly, Cecilia Ye reached for his sweater. It was a loose, wide-neck pullover, but she still had to stand on tiptoe; Xavier Fostern helpfully crouched a little.

He looked trim in his clothes, but once his sweater came off, his well-built physique was revealed—broad shoulders, slender waist, and a faint set of eight-pack abs highlighted by the curve of his obliques disappearing into his pants.

“The pants,” he said nonchalantly, standing upright.

Cecilia Ye’s cheeks heated up, but the pants slid off easily enough. Internally grumbling, she unfastened his belt with small, deft hands. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Her voice was a whisper, and her face was scarlet as she turned her head away.

Bending, Xavier Fostern used his uninjured hand to remove the last bit of clothing before stepping into the tub, his arm lazily resting on the rim.

Lounging languidly at the edge, he drawled, “Cecilia, hand me the body wash.”

His voice was low and a touch hoarse—hard to resist.

Resigned, Cecilia Ye crouched down, arranging the body wash and shampoo at his side before quickly turning her back again.

A quiet laugh came from behind her. After four years of marriage, he wondered, why was his little wife always so shy? Every time, he found himself wanting to tease her more.

Water splashed as Xavier Fostern washed up one-handed. When he reached for the body wash, the bottle tumbled to the floor and rolled right to Cecilia Ye’s feet.

She bent to pick it up, set it on the counter, caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, and—flustered—stormed out of the bathroom.

Whatever, he can bathe himself with one hand.

Xavier Fostern let out a muffled laugh, not pressing her further. Any more, and she’d throw a real tantrum.

He had noticed that lately Cecilia Ye was becoming more interesting—she got angry, she talked back, and if pushed far enough, she even bit him.

Yes, she was definitely getting cuter.

After his bath, Xavier Fostern ambled out wrapped in a towel. Cecilia Ye already had her eyes shut, snug under the quilt.

She was pretending to sleep. If she ‘slept’, Xavier Fostern couldn’t bother her for help.

The bed shifted as someone climbed in. Wet hair flicked across Cecilia Ye’s face.

Sighing internally, she opened her eyes—and came face-to-face with those deep, mesmerizing eyes of his. Her heart gave a fierce jolt.

Xavier Fostern—why do you always pull away, only to come close again? Why so hot and cold?

I can only ever stand right here. When you come closer, I have to accept it, whether I want to or not. When you leave, all I can do is watch you go.

A sudden melancholy welled up. Cecilia Ye blinked once, then sat up to fetch a towel and hairdryer, tugging him upright.

Wind ruffled Xavier Fostern’s short hair as Cecilia Ye drifted into silent thought.

The doctor had said pregnancy makes a woman emotionally unpredictable, always overthinking. Maybe that’s why.

She really had been getting annoyed so easily these days.

Once his hair was dry, Cecilia Ye went to fetch his pajamas from the dresser.

As she helped him into his sleepwear, Xavier Fostern sat by the headboard, knees drawn up, watching her in a sudden quiet. He rubbed his brow—a dull ache setting in. Must be all that wind today.

Cecilia Ye dressed him, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed.

She kept as much distance as possible, curling up with her back to him. With his injured arm on her side, Xavier Fostern couldn’t even attempt to hold her and soon drifted off on his own.

Sometime in the night, Cecilia Ye rolled over, instinctively seeking warmth. She wrapped her arms around him—only to jostle his injured hand and elicit a stifled groan.

She came fully awake at once. Did she hurt his hand?

Eyes wide, Cecilia Ye half-sat up in the moonlight, gently moving Xavier Fostern’s arm aside.

The moment she touched him, she realized something was wrong—his hand was burning up. He must be running a fever.

Cecilia Ye turned on the light. Sure enough, Xavier Fostern lay there frowning, an unnatural flush creeping across his face.