However, despite their deep connection, fate cruelly parted them, with one mysteriously ending his life and one remaining alive but unconscious.

These memories made Jarrod's cooling breeze feel almost bitter.

Nicole withdrew her hand abruptly. "That's enough. It doesn't hurt anymore," she said, her voice turning distant.

Jarrod didn't insist. Standing abruptly, Nicole headed over to retrieve the hangover soup. Returning, she handed it to Jarrod.

"Drink this. It's warm."

Jarrod examined the dark soup and inquired, "Did you make this?"

"No," Nicole replied, shaking her head. "The housekeeper did. I just supervised at the end.”

"I'm not drunk," Jarrod stated suddenly.

“Even if you aren't, it's beneficial. It contains medicinal herbs,"

Nicole urged softly.

Without another word, Jarrod consumed the soup quickly.

Seeing the empty bowl, Nicole's features softened slightly. “I'll just rinse this," she offered, taking the bowl.

“Wait," Jarrod interrupted.

Nicole tensed, pausing as she turned, striving to stay composed.

“What is it?"

“Give me the bowl," Jarrod approached and said.

Nicole clutched the bowl tighter, questioning, "Why?"

"Why what?" Jarrod furrowed his brow. "Your hand is burnt. You shouldn't get it wet."

Hesitant, Nicole replied, “I'm fine."

Yet, Jarrod had already taken the bowl and headed to the sink, washing it himself. After drying his hands, he suggested, “Let's go to bed."