Chapter 469

Her words tightened something in his chest. And yet, somehow, they made him laugh. “You’re so cold.”

She tilted her head, catching the accusation in his tone.

Rylie pointed toward the untouched food. “Then eat.”

“My hands feel weak.” He glanced at the bowl of porridge, then back at her. His gaze, darker under the lamp’s glow, held steady. “My whole body feels weak.”

Rylie stared straight at him. “And?”

Brad didn’t bother holding the frustration in his eyes. She had claimed that she had nothing to do with him in front of the Owen brothers, and that cut deeper than he liked to admit. Part of him wanted distance too.

But the longer he looked at her, the harder it became to keep that resolve. Sinking back into the pillow, his voice turned quiet without meaning to. “Help me. Feed me.”

Rylie studied him. Something about him seemed off. His usual sharpness had faded. His eyes, once hawk-like, now carried a faint blur.

She paused, but only for a moment. Then she stepped forward and picked up the warm bowl of porridge.

Her hands weren’t exactly gentle, but every motion was measured. She scooped a spoonful and lifted it to his lips.

Brad opened his mouth without a word. His eyes didn’t leave her lowered gaze, watching her lashes as if they held something rare.

She continued feeding him. Spoon by spoon, her rhythm stayed steady. Until one spoonful slipped. Brad tilted his head, maybe on purpose or maybe not.

The porridge missed its mark. A few drops slipped from the corner of his lips, landing right on his chest — bare, damp, and warm with sweat. The rice and broth clung to his skin, catching the dim light in a way that made the moment feel oddly intimate.

Rylie froze mid-motion.

Brad noticed too. He glanced down at the mess on his chest, then back at her. His expression was innocent, but there was a hint of playful helplessness in it. “What a mess. Can you wipe it off for me?”

Rylie pursed her lips, set down the porridge bowl, and took a tissue from the bedside table.

Leaning in, she carefully reached for the spot.

Her fingers, even through the thin layer of tissue, brushed against his bare skin. The contrast hit her immediately — her cool touch meeting heat and firmness. The strength beneath that light touch pulsed with a quiet intensity.

Rylie wiped his chest as if she were dusting off an old shelf.

But for Brad, the light touch sent a jolt through him. Her fingers were cool, and the faint herbal scent that she carried lingered in the air between them.

His throat bobbed slightly. He watched her closely, eyes darkening with focus. Her face was close. Too close. His breath started to hitch.

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