For one fleeting moment, a faint muffled sound seemed to emerge from behind the bathroom door—as though someone had nearly lost their balance, stability compromised. Marcus's heart clenched with involuntary alarm, but he made a fist and ultimately resisted the impulse to push the door open and intrude.
Perhaps maintaining this dignity—this fiercely protected independence—represented Elena Nightshade's most stubborn insistence, her last line of personal sovereignty.
He leaned against the wall outside, imagination constructing the scene unfolding within: that slender yet stubbornly determined figure, struggling but skillfully completing each step through hard-won expertise.
Independent. Strong-willed. Enduring. These qualities formed his evolving understanding of Elena Nightshade—a portrait growing more complex with each observation.
After an indeterminate period, the sound of running water ceased. Several minutes later, the door opened from within. Elena had already dressed herself in a nightgown, hair wrapped in a towel turban, radiating warm steam and the fresh fragrance of shower gel.
Her cheeks had been steamed to rosy pink—like a freshly peeled hard-boiled egg, soft and vulnerable. But her eyes remained distant, carefully guarded. She glanced at Marcus and spoke with studied neutrality: "I've finished bathing."
Marcus straightened immediately. "Shall I carry you to bed?"
"Unnecessary." The refusal remained consistent.
"Then let me help dry your hair?" He searched desperately for the next potential breakthrough opportunity.
"I'll handle it myself." Elena maneuvered her wheelchair directly toward the vanity table, tone leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation.
Consequently, all of Marcus's anticipated "task opportunities" evaporated into nothing.
He observed Elena retrieve the hairdryer independently and proceed to dry her long hair with practiced efficiency, sighing internally: It appears I can only find opportunities after she falls asleep.
Therefore, that evening, Marcus forced himself to maintain wakefulness, lying rigid on his floor mat with ears perked, waiting for Elena's breathing patterns to indicate genuine sleep.
However, whether due to lingering fatigue from the previous day's tattoo removal procedure, or perhaps because the waiting process proved unbearably tedious—he failed to outlast her. Instead, he drifted off first, missing the excellent midnight opportunity for "point acquisition."
Marcus was violently jolted from sleep by a sharp alarm sound detonating inside his skull.
[WARNING! WARNING! Host Marcus Chen! Detection indicates your 'Positive Value' accumulation rate has fallen dangerously low, remaining below system safety threshold for two consecutive days! You must immediately implement effective contact strategies to increase values! Continued poor performance will trigger penalty mechanisms: 10-point deduction for first offense. If score returns to zero, mission will be classified as complete failure, and Host's vital signs will be forcibly erased!]
The cold electronic voice delivered its message like a death warrant, causing Marcus to bolt upright from his floor mat with explosive force, all vestiges of sleep obliterated.
"It's that serious?! Why the hell didn't you mention this sooner?!" he roared internally, panic flooding his nervous system.
[System (Fortune): "Uh... this system only just received the rule update transmission from headquarters..."] The voice carried unmistakable guilty undertones.
Faint morning light filtered through gauze curtains, falling across Elena Nightshade's still-sleeping face on the bed above.
Her cheeks carried delicate flush from sleep, long lashes resting quietly against pale skin. Her lips appeared redder than usual, presenting an image of complete defenselessness.
Marcus's heart pounded like tribal drums. A dangerous thought crystallized: What if I just... gently touch her face right now? She's sleeping so soundly—it should be... safe, right?
Survival instinct overpowered fear. He swallowed hard and, moving with thief-like stealth, cautiously extended his hand toward that seemingly soft cheek. However, before his fingertips could make contact, invisible killing intent seemed to coalesce in the surrounding air, causing every hair on his arm to stand at rigid attention.
In that moment of hesitation—withdrawal, then renewed determination to advance—his finger joint accidentally scraped against bedding fabric, generating a faint rustling sound.
Just as his fingertip approached her nose—
A pair of eyes—initially hazy with sleep but rapidly crystallizing into ice—suddenly snapped open! His sneaking figure reflected with crystal clarity in those dark pupils.
"...!" Marcus froze in place completely, mind racing at maximum processing speed, desperately attempting to construct some plausible excuse.
Precisely then, urgent knocking erupted from outside the bedroom door, accompanied by household manager Sophia's deliberately lowered but barely concealed anxious call: "Miss Nightshade, are you awake?"
The manager's voice suggested urgent matters requiring attention.
Elena, still recovering from shock, delivered a fierce glare toward Marcus—temporarily too occupied to pursue his offense, though she didn't respond to the inquiry from beyond the door.
Before any response emerged from the room's interior, another voice immediately followed—elderly but vigorously robust, carrying undeniable warmth: "Elena, it's Grandfather! I'm coming inside!"
The words had barely finished when the doorknob began rotating with audible mechanical sound!
Marcus's pupils contracted violently! At this precise moment, he remained sleeping on the floor! If this grandfather—who clearly doted on his granddaughter—witnessed the newlywed couple maintaining separate sleeping arrangements... Marcus couldn't even begin to imagine the catastrophic consequences!
In a flash of lightning-speed decision-making—perhaps two seconds maximum—Marcus erupted with astonishing potential! He seized pillow and blanket from his floor position, haphazardly hurled them back onto the bed, and like a slippery fish executed one smooth diving motion directly into the warm covers. Simultaneously, his long arm extended with predatory precision and tightly pulled the rigid, cold form of Elena Nightshade into his embrace!
Elena found herself caught completely off-guard, suddenly engulfed in a masculine embrace radiating unfamiliar heat. Her eyes widened instantly, hostility within them almost transforming into tangible blades that would methodically slice him apart.
Marcus quickly pressed his index finger against his own lips, making a universal "shush" gesture while whispering with urgent rapidity directly into her ear: "Don't move! Do you want Grandfather to see us sleeping separately and worry about you?"
Elena's body visibly stiffened, and a flash of hesitation flickered through her eyes.
Marcus pressed his advantage immediately, arranging his features into an ingratiating smile. His other hand moved with soothing motions, rubbing gently at the back of her head while coaxing in hushed tones: "Good girl. Just cooperate for a moment."
Following that whispered plea, he applied slight additional pressure, pressing her face firmly against his chest—adopting an intimate posture of lovers sleeping in each other's arms.
Almost simultaneously, the bedroom door creaked open with audible hinges.
Her cheek was forced against a firm, warm chest. Her nostrils filled with unfamiliar, clean masculine scent—soap and skin. Elena held her breath, maintaining rigid stillness while feigning continued sleep.
And in the next second, dazzling fireworks exploded across Marcus's consciousness!
[Ding! High-intensity, extensive-area intimate contact detected! Target's emotional fluctuations register as extreme... Classified as 'forced acceptance' under special circumstances! Positive Value instantaneously surged +50 points!]
Marcus's internal reaction approached pure ecstasy!
Elena's petite frame could be completely encircled by a single arm. Even after sleeping through the night, her body temperature remained on the cooler side—her cheek pressed against his chest felt noticeably cold.
Especially that small, delicately structured nose bridge pressing into his skin—it felt like a cold dagger making contact.
Even without looking directly, Marcus could clearly sense that the two gazes originating from within his embrace had already filled with towering, murderous intent.
His heart rate accelerated even further—half from genuine fear, half from exhilarated triumph.
Just then, he registered a slight tickling sensation at his collarbone—Elena's long, curled lashes trembling with suppressed rage, brushing against his bare skin like angry butterfly wings.
He couldn't resist glancing downward, meeting her fire-filled eyes directly. Her small face had already flushed crimson—whether from holding her breath or fury, impossible to determine.
Uh... it appears I may have overplayed my hand... Marcus's heart sank with dawning realization. That was reckless. Extremely reckless. Will this vengeful lone wolf assassinate me later in retribution?