Cecilia had a band-aid wrapped around one of her fingers.

Mark was concerned for her, his tone laced with reproach.

"Why aren't you getting more rest? And why are you learning to cook?"

The glow from the kitchen light bathed the room in warmth.

When Cecilia lifted her eyes to meet Mark's gaze, they shimmered with a vulnerability that struck him as innocent.

In that instant, Mark felt as if he were glimpsing the Cecilia of years past.

She used to be so fragile, quick to seek his comfort at the slightest sign of distress, calling him ‘Uncle Mark’ as she clung to him. His heart melted at the memory, and his eyes softened in response.

Zoey, ever the perceptive woman, sensed the palpable tension and tactfully exited the room, leaving Cecilia and Mark alone in the intimate kitchen setting.

With tender care, Mark guided Cecilia to a chair. He gently unwound the makeshift bandage from her injured finger, and then skillfully reapplied a fresh one.

Each time the bandage tightened, Cecilia would suck in her breath involuntarily.

Catching this, Mark met her eyes and murmured in a sultry, raspy voice, "Just a minor cut, and yet you're flinching as if it's more.

You make these sounds during our intimate moments, too. You're trying to make me worry, aren't you?"

Cecilia felt her cheeks grow hot.

She considered offering a sassy comeback, feigning indifference but feared it would ruin the moment.

She didn't want to break the spell.

Even though his words were cheeky, Mark's touch was unmistakably gentle.

Once her finger was securely bandaged, Mark caressed her cheek and said softly, "Rest now. I'll take care of dinner."

He proceeded to unbutton his jacket, revealing a dark blue shirt and tailored, iron-grey trousers that accentuated his lean, muscular form.

Mark had barely taken two steps when Cecilia wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

Pressing her face against his back, she began to fidget with his belt.