It was something Mitchel had never done before, and he ended up burning his hand!

Whenever he remembered how Raegan had irritated him, he was furious with himself.

"Come on, drink it before it gets cold," Mitchel urged impatiently.

With flushed cheeks, Raegan took the bowl and sipped the soup.

She was overwhelmed by the fact that Mitchel, who had never cooked for anyone in his life, had made this ginger soup for her.

Moreover, it was late at night. The handsome man with a perfect figure served her soup personally, making Raegan feel like she was on cloud nine.

Once she finished, Mitchel took the bowl, and only then did Raegan notice the burn on the back of his hand.

Mitchel's skin was even smoother than a woman's. It was delicate and tender.

Concerned, Raegan asked, “What happened to your hand?"

“It's nothing."

Mitchel didn't want to admit he didn't know how to handle the pot properly and burned himself. That would be too embarrassing!

As he headed toward the door with the bowl in hand, he suddenly turned around, leaned against the frame, smiled at Raegan, and asked, "Do you worry about me?"

Raegan put on a fake smile and replied, "You wish!"

Hearing her response, Mitchel chuckled softly and exited the room.

Raegan was beyond irritated, feeling like she could chew off her tongue. Why was she letting this bother her anyway? It wasn't the right time to bring it up.

Pitying a man was just inviting trouble, and sympathizing with one would only lead to misery. This age-old saying about men echoed in her mind.

Sharing a bed with Mitchel again was out of the question.

They weren't in love anymore. How could they casually share a bed like that?

When Mitchel returned, Raegan had composed herself. She said indifferently, "Mr. Dixon, thanks for your help tonight. It's late.

You should head back."