Mia Grant stared intently at the door, her heart pounding like a drum.

She steadied herself with one hand on a cabinet, while her other hand reached for the vase sitting on top of it.

The moment the person pushed the door open, Mia Grant summoned all her strength, gripped the vase, and swung it viciously at their head.

"What the—?"

A familiar Beijing accent rang out, punctuated by a choice curse word.

The man caught the vase steadily. Before he could even get a clear look at the room, a dark figure suddenly collapsed toward him.

Yates Donovan quickly tossed the vase aside and caught the falling figure, holding her securely in his arms.

’Ahh, so cool.’

Mia Grant closed her eyes, letting herself lean against him, greedily absorbing the cool aura radiating from his body.

She tried to soothe her agitated nerves.

The entryway light was off, so Yates Donovan could only make out Mia Grant’s face by the light spilling in from the hallway.

The young woman’s hair was a mess, her eyelashes drooped, and her cheeks were flushed pink with a hint of drunkenness.

"How did you get this drunk?"

Her body was as limp as water. Yates Donovan closed the door and carried her inside.

Mia Grant was placed on the sofa. She looked up at the man across from her. "Don’t you know how to knock before entering my room?"

"I thought you were already resting."

Yates Donovan sat down on the coffee table opposite her, looking her up and down.

The young woman was leaning against the sofa as if she were asleep, but the rise and fall of her chest... it didn’t look quite normal.

Her breathing was a little ragged.

Just a moment ago in the banquet hall, he had stepped out to take a call. When he returned, Mia Grant was gone.

His subordinate told him that Felix Sinclair had taken Mia Grant upstairs.

He froze for a moment, then signaled his men to prepare to leave.

But then his subordinate added, "Miss Grant seemed a little unwell when she left. She was probably drunk. The young master of the Sinclair family was helping her upstairs."

"Aren’t you... going to check on her?"

"Wouldn’t I just be in the way?" he said with a smile. "Have someone send up a sobering soup."

Just as a hotel staff member was about to go up, they ran into Felix Sinclair, who was leaving.

And so, here he was.

His subordinate said she was so drunk she could barely walk. If that was the case, how could Felix Sinclair feel at ease leaving her here all alone?

He swore he just wanted to come in and take a quick look.

Confirm she was alright, and then he would leave.

Who knew that the moment he walked in, a vase would come crashing down on his head? Luckily, his reflexes were fast, or there would have been bloodshed tonight.

"What do you want from me? If you have something to say, say it quick. If not, get out. I’m going to sleep..."

Mia Grant was in agony. It felt like thousands of ants were gnawing at the veins in her limbs. Itchy... and so hot.

Where Yates Donovan couldn’t see, Mia Grant was digging her fingers into her thigh, trying desperately to stay lucid.

Her mind was a chaotic mess, as if she were at the bottom of the sea, with waves constantly crashing against her fragile nerves.

"I didn’t see you drink that much. How did you get this drunk?"

Yates Donovan gradually sensed something was wrong. "Don’t sleep yet. I’ll have someone bring you a sobering soup. You can sleep after you drink it."

Mia Grant nodded haphazardly. Her long hair fell forward, uncomfortably plastered to her face with sweat, but she no longer had the strength to tie it up.

"Then you... just... wait. I’m going to... take a shower first."

She barely managed to stumble through the short sentence, looking as if she was hanging on by a thread.

It seemed like she might pass out at any second.

She pushed herself up from the armrest of the sofa, staggering to her feet.

Across from her, the man didn’t respond. His dark eyes just remained fixed on her, not missing a single detail.

The playful smile that usually filled his eyes had vanished completely.

His eyes were dark and heavy as his gaze roamed over her body, as if trying to confirm something.

Mia Grant paid him no more mind. Her consciousness was slipping away, and her thoughts were consumed by one thing: a bath. She needed water. She needed a cold bath.

She stumbled through the bedroom door. Unable to find the light switch, she fumbled her way inside in the dark. Her foot caught on something, and with a cry of alarm, she instinctively shut her eyes, bracing for an intimate encounter with the floor.

A force wrapped around her waist, precisely encircling her in the darkness and lifting her off the ground.

Mia Grant’s eyes flew open in surprise, her heart still hammering wildly against her ribs.

The next thing she knew, she was placed on the bed. Before she could react, the man grabbed the nearby blanket and wrapped her up like a little burrito.

"What are you doing!"

The words came out soft and breathy, enough to make one’s heart itch with desire.

She tried to kick him but found her legs were completely immobile.

The man was leaning over her, pinning down the edge of the blanket. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel from his breathing how close they were—so close that a slight movement might cause their lips to touch.

Mia Grant was already burning up. Her little cocktail dress was soaked with sweat, and now, wrapped tightly in the blanket, it felt like she was drenched in water.

"Don’t move."

Unsure what part of him she had touched, Yates Donovan’s breath hitched. After a few seconds, he said, "You’re not drunk."

"Stay here and don’t move. Be good."

"I’m going to call a doctor. You wait for me here."

"I’m so hot..." Mia Grant’s breathing was heavy. "Don’t call a doctor. You... you... cold water... run a bath for me. I need a bath."

"Just hold on a little longer."

"You can’t take a cold bath. With your small frame, it could be fatal." Yates Donovan precisely gathered her long hair in the thick darkness. He pulled off his own tie with one hand, his fingers trembling as he knotted it.

After managing to tie up her hair, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Be good. Wait for me."

A sobering soup was useless now. Yates Donovan called his family doctor and told him to send a female doctor over immediately.

"Is the dosage clear? Can you confirm which drug it is?"

"How should I know?"

Yates Donovan was incredibly frustrated. He found it bizarre; he’d had people keeping a close watch, taking every possible precaution.

But somehow, some bastard still managed to find a loophole...

"When can you get here? Can you hurry? She’s in a lot of pain right now. Is there any way to alleviate it?" Yates Donovan paced back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Well..." The doctor was silent for a few seconds before pointing him toward an obvious solution.

Then, Yates Donovan fell silent too.

The doctor didn’t get it. Their young master was a notorious playboy; solving this kind of problem should have been easy for him.

Making this call today felt a bit presumptuous.

"Since we can’t be sure what she ingested, even if I send someone, they might not be able to solve the problem. If it’s a very potent drug, the options are either taking her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped, or... ahem, you help her solve it."

After a pause, the doctor asked cautiously:

"So, do you think... is there still a need for me to come over?"

Taking a deep breath, Yates Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache like this for the first time. "Cut the crap..."

THUD.

A sound came from the bedroom behind him, like something heavy had fallen to the floor.

Yates Donovan’s heart tightened, and he rushed back.

He pushed open the ajar door. He had left a lamp on when he went out, and by its light, he saw the blanket lying on the floor.

’Where is she?’

Suddenly, his gaze froze.

Her shoes were scattered on the floor. He walked over and picked one up.

Then, the familiar black, backless cocktail dress came into view.

He followed the trail and picked up a thin, slightly damp piece of fabric from the floor...