The moon hung at the tree's edge, carrying a cool breeze; the window in the hospital ward reflected a young girl, her hand clutching a 10 cm needle that glistened coldly as she slowly approached the bedside. Even though she wore a mask, her upward-slanting eyes were unmistakable.
Charles Anderson's eyes were tightly shut, his breathing shallow.
The girl observed him sleep peacefully, crouching quietly by the bed, studying the man's hands—distinct knuckles, bulging veins, so fair the blood vessels were visible at a glance.
Perfect for a needle.
She gently held the man's palm, moving the long needle closer, holding her breath, but before the needle could touch his skin, she sensed a cold gaze above her.
The girl's breath hitched, raising her eyes only to find herself staring into Charles Anderson's dark eyes.
The man grabbed the girl's offending hand, pulling her quickly. Suddenly, she was pinned against the hospital bed; Charles used his weight to press down on her legs.
"Y-you weren't asleep?" Rosie Scott's eyes widened in fear.
Both her hands were restrained as the man glanced at the cold-glinting needle and chuckled softly, "Know how to handle a needle? Why don't I teach you?"
"No, no, no... I know, you don't need to teach me." The girl sensed a fleeting coldness in the man's eyes, her heart raced. "Mr... Mr. Anderson, you're holding too tight, could you loosen up a bit?"
The man's gaze was unwavering, his hand snatched the long needle from her grasp.
The girl panicked, her pupils contracted sharply as she swallowed, forcing a bitter smile, "H-husband, I'm sorry, let go of me, okay?"
Rosie was truly scared; the syringe contained only a small amount of sedative, which would gradually put someone to sleep. But it wasn't the sedative she feared, just making someone sleep, but the 10 cm needle gleaming coldly under the light.
"Such a delicate neck, if a needle were punched through, wouldn't that be quite a scene ruin?" The man removed her mask, pressing the needle gently against her tender neck. He saw the girl turn pale, her eyes round like a mouse caught by a cat, and a teasing smile formed on his lips, "Rosie, do you know who tried to kill me today?"
Cold sweat trickled down the girl's forehead, she dared not move, her lips quivered, "I don't know."
Charles laughed lowly, raising his gaze with some hostility in his eyes, "Since you don't know, wouldn't your actions tonight be similar to those who attacked me today?"
Rosie's mind felt like it had been blasted, utterly blank, her mouth twisted, her eyes welled with tears.
The man's dark eyes swirled with helplessness, "Needles don't have eyes, cry out loud, it'll prick you, your own fault."
The girl sobbed silently, her eyes rimmed red, looking quite pitiful. As her sobbing ebbed and flowed, Charles slightly withdrew the needle pressed against her neck.
The night was cool as water, a cold wind blew outside, Rosie's mind slowly clearing. She felt the grip on her wrists ease, beneath her, the man's hold was more weight than force. She noticed early on that Charles had moved the needle aside.
Rather than being fish on a chopping board, better to fight back, there might be a chance to dominate...
The girl bent her knees sharply, the man grunted, her wrists freed as she flipped to straddle his waist, yet so much happened in that second—she was unaware of the needle in her shoulder.
"You... the needle..." Rosie finished speaking and felt dizzy, then rolled her eyes and lost consciousness.
Charles's dark eyes filled with cold emotion, before he could react, the girl collapsed onto him.
A warm sensation at his neck, the girl's shallow breaths brushed against him. Her nurse's cap fell off, her fluffy hair scattered across the pillow. The man's body tensed, his long lashes quivered lightly.
An oily black pen fell from the girl's pocket, the man held it, glancing at it with teasing eyes, probably her second tool of crime.
With her impatient nature, it's no wonder things ended this way. He figured even if someone wanted to kill him, they wouldn't send someone so foolish.
Watching her cry so earnestly, the night deepened, he considered letting her go, but who knew, the tenacious girl dared to ambush again. Her overzealous movements accidentally caused the needle to pierce her shoulder; no one else to blame.
The man withdrew the needle and tossed it aside, circling his arm around her waist to sit up, the girl's head flopped back limply; under the soft white light, her round chin, slightly swollen lips revealing pearly teeth, she became the center of attention.
Charles gently caressed her neck, the girl's head unintentionally bumped against his shoulder, her shallow breath in his ear.
Tingly.
The man's dark eyes shimmered.
----
The next day, the sky was clear, clouds floated.
Rosie Scott screamed from the bathroom, her hands shaking with anger, "Charles Anderson, you jerk!"
In the mirror, the girl's face had two curly mustaches drawn with an oily pen, quite symmetrical, resembling the long mustaches favored by Western gentlemen.
At this moment, on the girl's face, it looked quite ridiculous and humorous.
Last night she sneaked into Charles's ward with sedatives and an oily pen to knock him out and paint his face, but things took an unexpected turn. She was pricked by her needle and passed out, her face ended up drawn with the marker she brought.
The girl's chest felt explosive regret, the ink from the pen was hard to wash off; she used various cleaning products, her face red from scrubbing, not coming off at all, she was meant to attend a film shoot kick-off lunch today, how could she face the director like this?
The ward's door opened, the man was wheeled in by someone, passing the bathroom, he glimpsed the girl's comical face and coughed lightly to stifle laughter, but the mirth in his voice was evident, "I've had the script sent over."
"Charles Anderson, you're worse than a pinhole, I've never..." Rosie Scott stormed out of the bathroom, truly exhibiting the 'shrew' demeanor, but upon seeing who wheeled the man in, she retreated, a massive black-clad bodyguard, taller than the doorframe, shot a deadly glare at her.
The man ordered breakfast served, speaking gently, "Eat breakfast first, I'll have someone drive you to the film set."
Rosie Scott sulked at the table, devoid of appetite, her mood dark while the man opposite kept chuckling, occasionally tossing teasing glances, utterly cheerful.
"These soup dumplings are limited to a hundred servings daily, many fret over not getting any, surely you'd like to try?" The man spoke softly.
Only six per serving, her bowl had five, while Charles had one held out to her lips.
The girl looked down at the soup dumplings in her bowl, wondering if Charles's kindness meant an apology.