Chapter 169: "Let Me Help You Clean It"

Jordan lay propped against the pillows in the recovery room, his left arm secured in a sling.

His attention remained fixed on his hand as he concentrated on each small movement.

Beside the bed, Aren sat on a stool, a calm, encouraging smile on her face as she carefully guided him through the simplest physical therapy exercises.

It had been only a day since his surgery, so there was no need for anything strenuous yet.

For now, she was primarily checking for signs of nerve damage and encouraging circulation in the hand that had spent so long immobilized.

"All right, Jordan," she said, watching his fingers with an intensity that nearly matched his own. "Try wiggling them one at a time, starting with your thumb. Then try moving all of them together."

The exercise sounded simple enough.

Jordan began with his thumb, then moved through each finger until he reached his pinkie.

Blood loss and prolonged immobilization had left his hand stiff and numb. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant, but after a few attempts, he managed to move all his fingers together.

"Good." Aren’s face brightened with approval. "Now let’s try something a little more difficult. Just make a very light fist, then relax your hand again. Repeat that several times."

Jordan nodded and tried.

This time, however, the movement demanded considerably more effort.

Even the simple act of squeezing his hand seemed to require strength he had not yet recovered.

A faint crease appeared between his brows, and tension gathered around his eyes, but he said nothing. He simply kept trying, as though determined not to disappoint her.

Aren noticed immediately.

She placed one hand gently over his and held it still.

Jordan stopped the moment she touched him, his gaze shifting toward her in surprise.

"Am I doing it wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Not at all. You’re doing great. I’ve confirmed that the nerves are responding properly, but let’s not push it too far and tire you out. Let me help get the blood flowing instead."

She began massaging the back of his hand with slow, careful movements.

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles before gliding gently along each finger. Gradually, her small hands traveled higher, working along his forearm with measured pressure to encourage circulation.

Warmth slowly spread through Jordan’s chest as he watched her.

There was something strangely intimate about being cared for with such attentive concentration.

Yet, beneath that pleasant feeling came another observation he couldn’t ignore: there was no hesitation in her touch, as though she had performed the same procedure countless times before.

She seemed to know exactly where his veins lay beneath his skin, how much pressure to apply, and how long to maintain it — not the casual way someone might massage another person.

"Whatever course you took must have been a really good one," he remarked. "Even my previous therapists weren’t this careful."

Aren glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to his forearm.

"Oh... I suppose I just really enjoyed the lessons." A soft, almost wistful smile touched her lips. "I like taking care of people. Helping them recover. Especially people I care about very much."

The words warmed Jordan instantly.

He couldn’t possibly have misunderstood that. She had just casually admitted that she cared about him.

A lot.

Before he could savor the feeling for too long, however, her hand left his arm.

She turned toward the bedside cabinet and picked up the box of burnt cheesecake she’d brought with her.

A moment later, she returned with a slice on a paper plate, her expression brightening.

"That was a really good session," she announced, breaking off a bite with the fork and bringing it toward his mouth. "Congratulations! You earned this reward for your effort. You’ve been looking forward to trying it, haven’t you? Here. Have a bite."

The eagerness shining in her eyes made Jordan laugh softly.

’You’re the one who’s looking forward to this cheesecake more than I am.’

’I’ve been looking forward to kissing you since you walked through that door.’

The second thought embarrassed him so thoroughly that heat rushed into his ears.

He quickly took the bite, determined not to let any trace of his thoughts reach his face, and concentrated on tasting the creamy cheesecake as though it were the most important thing in the world.

"It’s... really good," he murmured. "Thanks for taking your break to come all the way over here and visit me."

He paused, then glanced around the room as though searching for something.

More accurately, he was searching for someone — or rather, a certain furry golden companion who rarely seemed to leave Aren’s side.

"You didn’t bring Biscuit with you today?"

"Oh, of course I did!" Aren nodded enthusiastically as she took a bite for herself. "He’s been very pouty since I’ve been busy with the Trials all weekend, so he had a blast when I brought him along today. But I couldn’t bring him into the medical wing, so I had to leave him with Ricci."

"Ah, right." Jordan sighed, finally remembering. "The medical wing doesn’t allow dogs. I was hoping to see him today."

Aren nodded repeatedly as she offered him another bite.

"He seemed very confused about why you didn’t come to pick us up today. I had to spend some time explaining to him why you couldn’t come."

Jordan laughed and opened his mouth for the next bite.

"Ah... I wish I could’ve come. Did he forgive me for not coming?"

"Of course. Biscuit is very understanding!" Aren declared with complete conviction. "He also sent little wishes that you recover soon so he can see you again fast."

Jordan laughed softly.

"I’ll try to recover as quickly as possible. I miss Biscuit too."

After another bite, he asked,

"How’s the workload today? I imagine Ricci is making you test those prototypes he dug up from centuries ago again?"

Aren tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Some of them actually look like they’re from millennia ago."

She gave a faint shrug.

"But Don Eduardo seems fascinated by those models, so I try my best to help figure out what went wrong with them."

"Sounds like more work than last week." Jordan frowned slightly. "You didn’t have to come over. The workshop isn’t even close to the medical wing."

Aren pouted and brought another bite of cheesecake to his lips.

"But I’m not here today just to work. I’m mainly here to visit you."

Her expression brightened again.

"And don’t worry. There really isn’t that much work for me. Truthfully, I think Ricci is just pulling out old models for me to revise so I have something to do. Everyone’s attention seems to be on Model 72 now."

Jordan went quiet as he accepted the bite and processed what she’d said.

Ever since she had identified the flaws in the design of this new pistol line two weeks ago, House Marchetti had poured its resources into pushing the model toward production and release.

What had originally been scheduled for next year had suddenly been accelerated. Eduardo had announced that Model 72 would be released within the year — or as soon as possible.

That wasn’t the real problem, though.

The real problem was House Porto.

They had naturally been selected as the primary logistical partner for the project.

But now that the relationship between the two Houses had fractured, Jordan could already foresee the nightmare of damage control and negotiations waiting for him once he recovered from the gunshot.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

’If only I weren’t the first son.’

’Or born into this family at all.’

’I could just be a normal man. Live a normal life. Do something I actually like. Worry about money and building a life like everyone else.’

’Maybe I could take her on dates without constantly wondering who’s watching us.’

The thought was almost painfully tempting.

But saying it aloud felt impossible.

The young woman sitting beside his bed was the heiress of House Lombardi herself. She had taken responsibility for four contracts with four major Houses at once, all to drag her family out of crippling debt.

She was even destined to become the future Donna of House Lombardi, being the only child.

Compared to someone as formidable as her, Jordan couldn’t help feeling an uncomfortable fear stirring inside him — a fear that admitting such weakness would make him seem inadequate.

’What if I’m not good enough to stand beside her?’

So he swallowed the thought along with another mouthful of cheesecake and kept silent.

When he looked back at Aren, however, he discovered that she had somehow moved closer.

His eyes widened.

He hadn’t even noticed when she’d moved. For one desperate second, his heart seemed to stop.

She was so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath.

Her gaze had settled on his mouth, and then her thumb gently brushed the corner of his lips.

And that expression on her face—

’Is she going to kiss me?’

Jordan froze completely, scarcely daring to breathe.

Instead, Aren simply continued wiping his lower lip with her thumb, apparently unaware of the effect she was having on him.

"Jordan..." she murmured. "I’m very sorry, but you’ve got some cheesecake here."

Jordan stalled for another second as the realization sank in.

"Oh, ha ha..." He forced out an awkward laugh, desperately trying to recover his composure. "...Thanks."

But as she began to withdraw her hand, something strange overtook him.

Before he could think better of it, his free hand darted forward and gently caught her wrist.

Aren looked at him in surprise.

Jordan’s gaze dropped briefly to the fingertip that had just brushed his mouth before returning to her eyes.

Before she could ask what he intended, he lifted her hand slightly and brought the fingertip toward his lips, a playful smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Here..." he murmured. "Let me help you clean it."