His eyes were still dark and bottomless, saturated with a predatory chill that made it hard for me to breathe. I was holding the ladle, and my whole body jolted. My back went stiff. After a moment, I forced a tiny smile. "Mr. Anderson, you're hungry, right? I'll need around thirty minutes to finish this. You can go wait outside… okay?"
He didn't answer. His gaze simply stayed on me tracing from the arch of my brow, to the tear-mole at the corner of my eye, to my mouth… lingering everywhere, as if he wanted to carve me into the backs of his eyes.
My brows twitched. I felt a prickle of fear in my gut. Yes, this mansion was brighter and much nicer than the old Anderson estate, and yes, this particular Anderson devil was significantly more bearable than his family but only when he was normal. When he snapped, he was scarier than all of them put together.
Just like right now.
My lips trembled. Since he clearly had no intention of leaving the kitchen, I had no choice but to continue cooking the broth, praying that the smell might calm my nerves.
Cooking in this dress… honestly, I probably looked ridiculous. My face was fully made-up, pale as porcelain, lashes curled, and with the faint shine of lip gloss… definitely not an image meant for stirring soup. Yet I kept going, while he stood there, narrowing his eyes at me as if watching prey move.
Thirty minutes later, I finally turned off the heat. It was done. I exhaled in relief, glanced sideways and found Captain still planted at the doorway like a silent statue. I blinked, then forced a soft, sweet smile. "Mr. Anderson, I'm done. Let's eat."
He simply stared at me, saying nothing.
My mouth twitched in embarrassment. I picked up the bowl and turned to leave and the broth splashed. A few droplets landed right on the back of my hand.
"Ah... hot!"
Because of the sting, my grip loosened. The bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered across the floor.
Crash!
Broth splattered everywhere across the tiles and even onto the top of my foot. In an instant, angry red patches spread across both my hand and the arch of my foot, stinging sharply.
I stared dumbly at the disaster on the floor. Thirty minutes of effort. Gone. Captain had waited. Now there was no broth at all.
He would definitely lose it.
I panicked, crouching down to pick up pieces hoping somehow a bit of the soup was still salvageable but before I could touch anything, a large hand gripped my wrist. Cool peppermint brushed my cheek.
I froze.
By the time I fully processed what was happening, my hand was already submerged in cold water. The burn dulled under the chill. I blinked several times, raised my head and met Captain's shadowy, emotionless eyes.
Cold. Predatory. Not a ripple within.
But the way he washed my hand was absurdly careful almost reverent like he was tending to a fragile porcelain doll.
The shock made my mind blank. I shifted, trying to pull my hand back.
"If you want to lose that hand, go ahead and move," he murmured against my ear.
His warm breath ghosted over my skin, low and husky, heavy with danger. My entire spine stiffened.
Only when the redness on my hand faded did he release me. But he didn't step back. His hands slid down closing firmly around my waist.
"Where else?"
I knew exactly what he meant. I hesitated a beat before whispering, "…The top of my foot. It hurts too."
His gaze dropped immediately, landing on my foot now blotched with a rosy pink flush. Against my pale skin, it stood out even more, delicate and strangely… vulnerable. His eyes warmed, burning with a frightening intensity.
He lifted my leg clearly intending to treat it the same way.
Startled, I instinctively clamped my hand over my skirt. "Mr. Anderson, my foot, I can handle it myself. I'm a doctor, remember? I know how to keep it from scarring."
God, I was wearing a dress. If he kept going, everything would be exposed. And with Captain's unpredictable temper… who knew what he'd do if he saw something he shouldn't?
He seemed to catch my panic. He clicked his tongue softly, amused, and stopped lifting my leg.
Relief washed over me. My eyes even sparkled a little. I limped out of the kitchen only for the world to tilt violently.
Suddenly, I was airborne.
Captain carried me bridal-style firm, unyielding, and absolutely terrifying. But there was no romance in it only a jolt of raw fear shooting down my spine.
He didn't stop until he placed me gently on the sofa. Then he removed my crystal shoe.
My heart hammered painfully. "Mr. Anderson, please don't do that. I can take it off myself..."
"Antiseptic."
He ignored me completely. One hand held my ankle; the other slid over the red patch on my skin. His palm burned against me, so hot I nearly shivered.
I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. Facing those ink-black eyes felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. A cold sweat ran down my back. With trembling fingers, I pulled my little pouch closer and took out the antiseptic bottle.
Captain snatched it, grabbed a cotton swab.
The liquid was icy. When it touched my skin, I jerked instinctively but the relief came quickly. He spread the antiseptic carefully, his movements unbelievably gentle. Too gentle. And behind that gentleness lurked something twisted, something feverish, making my heart thump violently.
The antiseptic was done, but he didn't let go.
Instead, he stared at my foot at the pale arch, the soft webbing of my toes, the faint blush of irritation on my skin. His breathing grew deeper. His eyes darkened until they looked molten. Then he bent down and kissed the top of my foot.
Slowly. Devoutly. Obsessed.
A chill ripped down my spine. My pupils trembled. He was insane. Officially insane.
I had no idea how long it lasted before he finally released me. He didn't do anything else. He simply stopped.
I sagged in relief every muscle weak. It felt like I'd just walked out of hell and back.
But I still forced a smile. "Mr. Anderson, you really do have magic hands. It doesn't hurt at all now. It's like… completely gone."
I praised him sweetly, eyebrows curved with fake joy, voice soft and warm like melted milk candy.