Chapter 5

Mira's POV

"Hmm? Why do you say that?"

He continued massaging my ankle, applying just the right amount of pressure that felt wonderfully comfortable, and I could sense the pain beginning to dissipate, feeling considerably better already.

I glanced toward the door again, making certain no one would walk in, then lowered my voice and said:

"That person just now—she's your secretary, right? Won't she misunderstand us?"

"Misunderstand what?"

Draven's lips curved into a smile as I opened my mouth, then found myself at a loss for words.

Good Lord, what could I possibly say?

Was I supposed to tell him I was worried his secretary might misunderstand and think we were dating?

If I actually said that... I'd probably come across as delusional.

I simply closed my mouth and looked away:

"Nothing."

I heard a soft chuckle drift through the air, causing my face to flush scarlet in an instant.

Why does this man...

Oh, honestly...

Draven lifted the cover from the dishes on the table, releasing a rich, savory aroma that wafted toward me.

Steak, and pasta.

I hadn't thought I was particularly hungry before, but upon catching that scent, my stomach began growling insistently.

I'd only eaten a croissant for breakfast, so by now I was absolutely famished.

"Try it and see if it suits your taste."

Draven set the food before me, then poured himself a glass of red wine.

I noticed he seemed quite fond of drinking red wine—that slightly peculiar red wine of his.

Since he'd prepared lunch for me, I certainly wasn't going to stand on ceremony. I picked up my fork and brought the pasta to my lips.

Mmm, tomato meat sauce—my absolute favorite.

"Wow, this is delicious."

I closed my eyes in satisfaction, then looked toward Draven:

"You should eat too."

Draven took a delicate sip of his wine: "I'm not particularly hungry."

I frowned: "When was the last time you ate?"

Draven paused for a second, seemingly in thought:

"Probably... yesterday at noon."

"That won't do at all."

I set down my fork and pushed his portion of food in his direction:

"Come eat right now. You already have insomnia and an irregular schedule—if you don't eat properly on top of that, you'll ruin your stomach."

Draven appeared somewhat helpless as he tilted his head:

"I really don't have an appetite, and besides, I can drink wine."

"You need to drink less."

I told him seriously: "Prolonged fasting, combined with your high-intensity work schedule—blood sugar fluctuations will affect melatonin secretion. If this accumulates over time, it would be strange if your sleep quality didn't suffer."

He seemed to surrender to my reasoning, raising both hands:

"Alright, alright, I'll eat with you."

I lifted my head and said earnestly: "From now on, I'll supervise your meals."

Draven sat before me, studying me intently for several seconds. When I didn't back down, he shrugged helplessly.

"Fine, you win."

I broke into a smile, feeling somewhat pleased.

I wasn't sure if it was because today's lunch was particularly delicious, or for some other reason.

I had to admit, the lunch Draven had prepared was genuinely excellent—the steak was perfectly juicy, rich with the robust flavor of black pepper.

This entire meal consisted of flavors I loved.

I tilted my head back to look at Draven. He sat very properly, like a medieval nobleman—distinguished, elegant, eating in an unhurried, methodical manner.

Only he seemed somewhat picky, and his appetite wasn't large—he ate even less than I did.

"Do you usually take an afternoon nap?"

I asked him with my head cocked to the side, probing into his daily habits.

Draven paused with his fork and looked at me, those golden eyes deep and luminous, possessing a kind of magic that made one want to fall into them.

He reached for a napkin from the table and leaned toward me.

I froze, not yet having time to react, when he wiped the corner of my mouth—where a bit of red sauce had collected.

Tomato sauce.

I blinked, my face flushing uncontrollably once more.

Damn it... embarrassing myself again.

The cool fragrance from his body seemed to linger at the tip of my nose, leaving me somewhat dazed.

"I rarely nap."

He answered my question, and I pressed my lips together:

"Well, you're going to nap now. You didn't sleep last night, so you absolutely must rest today, otherwise the burden on your body will be enormous."

Draven seemed momentarily stunned, as if he hadn't expected me to say this.

Well... I suppose I am being rather domineering! He is my employer, after all.

"It's only your first day at work, and you're already managing me this much?"

I didn't detect any anger in his tone—instead, it felt like he was negotiating with me. Emboldened, I said:

"I'm a doctor. You should listen to me."

Draven fell silent for several seconds, then sighed.

His voice carried a hint of helplessness, and perhaps something else I couldn't quite identify.

"I can sleep, but you have to stay with me in the rest room."

My eyes widened reflexively: "You want me to stay with you?"

Are you a child?

I nearly blurted out these words but managed to swallow them down.

After all, I was still in my probationary period—speaking carelessly and getting kicked out would be utterly counterproductive.

Draven said flatly: "I'm not sleepy. If you don't watch me, I might get up and work."

I felt completely exasperated: "Mr. Cross, you're like a child."

"Call me Draven."

I blinked. Just his first name... that seemed rather intimate.

Though becoming friends with a patient could be more helpful for treatment.

"Alright, Draven, is your rest room large enough? Will there be a place for me to sit?"

He raised an eyebrow and pushed open a door beside the sofa.

It was a concealed door, not particularly noticeable normally, but once opened it revealed a whole other world inside.

The rest room was enormous, practically like a presidential suite—certainly not just a simple rest room. There was a large, plush bed, a deep brown leather sofa, and furniture and wardrobes fully equipped.

Only the room was quite dark, and somewhat cold. Even sitting by the doorway, I could feel a chill emanating from within.

Draven approached and bent down to lift me, but I quickly refused and stood up from the sofa.

"I'm much better now—I can walk on my own!"

Draven said nothing, and seeing that I could indeed walk myself, simply nodded.

Though my ankle still hurt somewhat, it was now bearable. That ointment seemed quite effective.

I settled onto the sofa in the rest room. The sofa was incredibly soft, comfortable enough to make me close my eyes contentedly.

Draven handed me a blanket:

"If you're cold, you can cover yourself with this."

I nodded and gave him a smile:

"Alright, now get into bed."

Draven climbed into bed, lying perfectly straight and proper.

I even began to wonder if he had some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder—did his sleeping position need to be this standard?

He lay motionless on the bed, his breathing so shallow it was barely perceptible, yet I could sense he hadn't fallen asleep.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, a kind of emotion I couldn't understand flickering within them, his voice carrying a touch of hoarseness:

"If I fall asleep, will you leave?"