With quiet care, Roscoe wiped her hand clean, ensuring no trace of the ordeal remained on her.

Suddenly, Nicole felt a constriction around her heart, and a peculiar sensation pricked at her nose.

She had thought she lost the ability to connect with others emotionally, assuming she had hardened herself into someone unfeeling and callous under Jarrod's influence.

Yet, amidst her inner turmoil, she yearned to understand his motives.

Doubt gripped her. She feared the answer might reveal a lack of any real purpose behind his actions.

Tears spilled from Nicole's eyes, landing on Roscoe's skin. In a hushed tone, she whispered, "It's not worth it, Roscoe..."

Roscoe's composure faltered. The once skilled surgeon was momentarily at a loss, his hands fumbling as he tried to comfort her. “Nicole,” he uttered softly, a plea in his voice.

Brushing away her tears, Nicole mustered a smile and took charge.

"Turn around. Let me see to those wounds," she insisted.

Roscoe's protest was faint. "There's no need for that."

"Don't argue. Just turn around," Nicole persisted, not willing to take no for an answer.

With Roscoe's back now to her, Nicole set to work. She meticulously cleaned the lacerations with iodine, applied clotting agents, and began to wrap the gauze around his torso.

Nicole's delicate touch seemed to cause Roscoe to stiffen, a sign that such care was foreign to him.

After Nicole finished with the bandage, Roscoe donned a white T-shirt hastily.

Nicole, in a moment of boldness, caught his hand, her question piercing the silence. "Roscoe, is it me that you want?"

The interplay of light and shadow in the room highlighted the clean lines of Roscoe's face, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere between them.

Nicole's voice, barely above a whisper, carried an undeniable allure as she leaned in close. “I'm here, ready to be yours. Is that what you desire?"

Nicole couldn't bring herself to accept his sacrifice and selflessness. The thought of easing her conscience through such an exchange crossed her mind, acknowledging her own fears of his genuine, unguarded feelings.

She knew it was folly, trying to awaken him from what she saw as a pointless pursuit with the bait of her own charm.

With a natural magnetism that needed no enhancement from cosmetics, Nicole's eyes held their own power. Her appeal was undeniable, potent even, and for someone like Roscoe, who seemed so unversed in matters of the heart, it could prove overwhelming.